


The Butterfly Effect

by helloimtrash



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: M/M, Quarter of Silence, kind of slow-burn but not really, movie!verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-08 02:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12854355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloimtrash/pseuds/helloimtrash
Summary: Conan never believed in the concept of the butterfly effect until he experiences it firsthand when the events of Quarter of Silence follow him home. (and who knew KID was such a mother hen anyway?)





	1. in the footsteps of the black org (1/2)

"Moh, Conan-kun! I thought you woke up already!" Energetic voice. Stifled footsteps. The loud creaking of the door. Didn't he tell Occhan to fix it twice now? "It's past ten in the morning!"

Conan groaned. He had, indeed, woken up ten minutes ago, only to fall back again on the other end–the  _cold_ end–of the futon. His head felt like shit, his throat felt like shit, and he was  _hot_. The cold sensation of the sheet against his cheek had been welcome as he'd closed his eyes, his feet propped up on his abandoned pillow. He wasn't planning on moving anytime soon.

The silence lasted 0,7 seconds before Ran crouched beside him. Her perfume, which on normal days he found sweet and charming, aggressively attacked his nostrils. Conan wanted to open his eyes,  _look_ at her, but he didn't find the energy to. Instead, he relaxed at the cool, familiar hand resting on his forehead and unclenched his teeth.

"Conan-kun, you have a fever." Her hand slid up to remove the bangs from his eyes. "I guess that's not surprising, considering yesterday…"

Conan didn't answer, blindly leaning into her touch. He frowned when it disappeared and painfully cracked an eye open. Ran was in the bathroom, looking through the drawers by the noise she made. He could only distinguish the back of her head from this angle, but her voice was distinct, echoed by the marble.

"I'm going shopping with Sonoko, alright? She wants a new dress for the KID heist tomorrow. I'm going to tell Dad to keep an eye on you. Are you gonna be okay? I can just cancel."

"No, it's okay, Ran-neechan," he managed to say around his dry throat.

She appeared at the threshold, holding a bottle of Tylenol, a glass of water, and a wet towel. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'll just sleep it off."

"Alright," she conceded, brows knitted in a frown. "I'm going to make some chicken soup and leave it in the microwave before I leave. Dad will heat it up for you later, okay? He's downstairs. Don't hesitate to call him if you need anything."

Conan nodded absentmindedly and let out a relieved sigh when the door of the apartment slammed shut. He sank lower into his pillow. Several minutes passed by in a lethargic silence, only interrupted by the distant ticking of the clock in the living room. Conan remained perfectly motionless under the cover. After approximatively seven minutes, however, the comforter was slowly lowered by two small hands, inch by inch, until two wide blue eyes appeared.

"KID heist?" Conan whispered.

.

_a ticking second hand, the streaking of a comet, a sick and exhausted soul : deduction is always the remedy! The events of Kitanosawa follow me to Beika! How would a thief and a detective cooperate?_

_seeing through the one and only truth, he looks like a child, but has the wits of an adult. His name: Detective Conan!_

[Meitantei Conan and Magic Kaito both belong to Gôsho Aoyama.]

.

Kuroba sneezed.

"Someone's talking about me," he sniffed, wiping his nose with his index finger.

"Or you're catching a cold," Aoko remarked. "That'd suck, on the last day of winter break."

The precinct was vibrating with activity, the air heavy and tainted by the inexorable fever that heist preparations never failed to induce. Rumors has it that Division Two spent half its budget on a new high-tech panic room for when they would have control over where to display KID's target. (That time hasn't yet to come, seeing as the owners liked to openly display their jewels; but when it would, they would be  _prepared_.) The officers had been forced to sacrifice the station's heating system, creating an unusual sight : agents were dressed from head to foot with big wool coats, complete with scarves and winter hats from all colors. Nakamori's office, whose window didn't close due to a particularly violent burst of rage months ago, was half buried in snow.

"Dad!" Aoko shouted at the sight of her father. Nakamori was wrapped in a huge moncler buttoned up to the neck, a bobble beanie on his head. He was shivering uncontrollably and trying to write as straight as he could with dark green fingerless gloves. "Are you crazy? You're gonna fall sick!"

She crossed the room in three strides, heels digging into the two inches of snow covering the ground, and snatched the papers from under his pen.

"Aoko!" Nakamori would've certainly looked surprised if his muscles weren't frozen in a scowl. "What're you doing here? Hi, Kaito-kun."

"I'm dropping some spare clothes and food, since you never come home these days."

Kaito ignored the ping of guilt he felt in favor of sitting on the edge of the desk. "Yo."

"It's freezing in here! Why don't you work somewhere else?"

"This is my office," Nakamori said matter-of-factly.

"But dad, you're  _shivering_!"

"Well thank God. That means I haven't fallen into hypothermia yet."

"Yet?!"

"Look." The inspector heavily dropped his hands on the deck of papers on his desk for emphasis, knocking over a few. "There's no time to waste, I need to finish this paperwork before KID's heist."

" _KID_ ," the young girl spat the word like it was the worst offense someone could make, a fire in her eyes that Kaito didn't want to analyze. "Damn thief, ruining everything since nineteen-ninety. What's so important about this heist anyway?"

"Don't you get it? Look!" He thrusted today's newspaper directly into her face.

Aoko blinked, deadpan. "What am I looking at?"

"The date, the  _date_! Tomorrow, it would be exactly eight years ago that KID disappeared. It's the first time one of his heist coincides with the date. Who to say he won't pull the same stunt again and go off the radar for years? Or decades?" The thought seemed to horrify him. "The risk is too high. I need to catch him  _tomorrow_."

"… Kaito, help me get some sense into him."

"I think we've established at this point that your father's a loss cause," the magician replied.

He had no idea how he managed to do that. His throat was painfully clenched shut. He guessed his pokerface was too deep incrusted within him it became an automatic defense mechanism.

There were multiple magazines piled on the floor, next to the desk. All had Kaito's alias splattered across the cover. Kaito leaned forward and picked one at random. There was a picture of Tantei-kun in the bottom right corner of page four, illustrating a quiz captioned "ARE YOU MORE KID OR MORE KILLER?" in aggressive comic sans MS. He concentrated on that.

(When he first heard that Nakamori liked to keep himself updated on the thief's whereabouts in the popular sphere, Kaito lost it. There was just something in the image of Inspector Nakamori reading scandal magazines whose targeted public was mostly constituted of teenage girls that he found  _hilarious_.)

"–focus less on that stupid thief and more on your health," was Aoko saying, tidying up the papers in neater decks. "Kaito agrees with me, right?" There was a silence where a breeze sighed through the room. "Kaito?"

Bored, Nakamori leaned over to look at the article he was gazing at. "Ah, that crazy brat. That story about him got out?"

"What story?" Kaito asked, before inwardly flinching. He spoke too quickly. It didn't come out as nonchalant as much as concerned but at this point, he really didn't care.

The inspector took his time responding, brows knitted in a frown and teeth shivering. "Don't tell anyone, 'cuz no one wants this in the media, but apparently he saved this village in the north–Kitonasawa? something like that–from a flooding by provoking an avalanche all by himself with nothing more than… than determination and a snowboard. That is, if I believe what Megure told me. He looked proud, the bastard. I heard the kid–the kid's their mascot or some shit. Completely  _nuts_ , I tell you. You know what  _I_  did when I was seven? I played in the yard and pissed my pants."

"Oh my god," Aoko commented, eyes wide. "That's insane. Where were his parents?"

"Beats me," her father grumbled, trying to lift his coffee mug without spilling the hot liquid.

The color in Kaito's face drained completely. "He–" He struggled to form a coherent thought, a million questions turning round his mind. He settled for: "Is he okay?"

"Last time I checked, he's still alive. But he was buried under all that snow for like, fifteen minutes. I doubt he's the picture of health right now."

Kaito hopped off the desk so suddenly father and daughter started.

"Where are you going?" Aoko asked.

The magician straightened his jacket and crossed the room in four big strides. "There's something I need to do."

"What about our study session?" the young girl shouted behind him, but Kaito was already out the door.

.

.

When Conan started to consciousness it was to an annoying background sound his foggy mind couldn't process yet.

Groggy, he fluttered his eyelids open. He didn't remember going to sleep. A quick glance on his right showed him the reason: he was clutching his phone in his fist. A pression on the home button and the screen opened up on a KID google search. Right. He must've fell asleep browsing.

A sigh escaped his lips as he laid back on his pillow, letting the latest news flood his brain.

There was a KID heist scheduled. Tomorrow. He wondered if he'd be able to make it. If it was up to him, he'd go without hesitation. Any opportunity to have a showdown with the thief was welcome. But in his current state–a child, and a _sick_ one–he doubted his guardians would let him go to  _school_ , let alone to a heist.

(how infuriating.)

The sound that woke him up became louder and louder until Conan realized it was produced by someone. In the kitchen. Hustling. Bustling. Good God, were they banging pans and pots together? He got up and groaned, suddenly painfully aware of how  _hot_  it was. Wasn't it supposed to be December? He glanced at the window and–yup, snow. It wasn't the weather that was fucked up, but  _his_  temperature.

Blanket draped over his head like a cocoon, the tips dragging on the ground, Conan walked over to the kitchen, barefoot. Ran was emptying groceries bags. Conan stopped on the threshold and rested his cheek against the doorframe, silently watching her shoving a box of eggs into the fridge.

She started upon noticing him. "Conan-kun! Wah, you scared me. I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"

The young boy blinked owlishly at her. "You're home early."

"Yeah, the date was awful." She resumed on emptying the groceries bags, setting various items on the counter. "The guy wasn't how Sonoko described him. Like, at all. He was rude and obnoxious. Asked all those personal questions and insisted on touching my hand." Milk, butter, soy sauce. "Boy, I'm really glad  _that'_ s over."

Conan's eyelids were heavy. A shiver washed over him like a knuckle caressing his cheek and he tightened his blanket around his shoulders. Suddenly, Ran was crouching in front of him, forehead puckered, bags forgotten on the counter.

"Conan-kun? Are you okay?"

"What date?"

The hand on his shoulder stiffened. Gaping mouth, wide eyes–like a deer in the headlights, Conan couldn't help but think.

"I thought–" The words were thick and left a bitter taste in his throat. He tried licking the roof of his mouth to dampen it. All he got was the sensation of sandpaper against his palate. "I thought you went shopping. With Sonoko."

He watched up close as Ran's face, usually bright and  _so_  expressive, became smooth and devoid of any emotion. There was a brief moment of hesitation on her part, and Conan used it to process the situation, an expression of horror progressively dawning on him.

There was someone. In his kitchen. Not only disguised– _well_  disguised. He was vaguely aware of his stomach sinking somewhere in his kidneys.

"Vermouth?" was all he managed to say, and his voice broke on the last syllable.

His mind was racing, considering his options. His shoes were safely tucked away in the shoe drawer. His watch, belt, even his  _phone_ –they were all in the bedroom, scattered around his futon. He had his glasses on, but they were useless in case of a physical attack. He  _could_  run–but in his state, the woman would have no difficulty catching up and restraining him. Maybe if he thrusted his blanket at her to slow her down?

( _but Occhan's downstairs_ , murmured the part of his mind that wasn't working on an escape plan.)

He stopped short in his thoughts, however, when a confused frown knitted Ran's brows. Perplexity was visible in her expression. Conan mirrored it. There was a brief moment where no one moved.

"No," the imposter finally said, slowly. Conan jumped at the sudden smooth, low-pitched,  _male_  voice. "Wrong person."

Conan stared at him with a blank look, frozen on the spot. The blanket on his shoulders slid to the floor, exposing his limited-edition Kamen Yaiba silk pajama shirt. He couldn't care less though, when in front of him under Ran's facial features was–

"Tantei-kun?"

–KID? Conan blinked several times, perplexed. Bamboozled. Flabbergasted. There weren't enough words in the world to do justice to his confusion. Just–what? Why?  _What?_

"Come on, say something." The thief waved a hand before his face. "How am I supposed to tell Mouri-san I broke her little protégé?"

The little detective didn't budge, brain dead. He was gaping and he couldn't stop.

Still crouched, elbows resting on his thighs and chin in the heel of his palms, KID examined him from different angles, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Ok now it's just creepy."

"… This is a hallucination," Conan decided after several minutes, a slight note of hysteria in his voice. His lips twitched upwards. "I'm hallucinating."

"I assure you I'm quite real," KID assured, the epitome of calmness. "You, on the other hand, look like a ghost." Conan watched as KID, brows furrowed, leaned over and put a hand on his forehead.

When Conan came to terms with the fact that he wasn't hallucinating and international thief 1412 was, in fact, crouched in front of him and checking his  _temperature_ , he jerked back, eyes wide with horror.

"What the-  _KID_?!"

"Wow, you really are slow today."

"What're you doing here?"

"Tantei-kun," KID scoffed. "Can't a thief just disguise himself as a girl and come chill with his favourite detective?"

Conan blinked. "… I'm your favourite detective?"

" _That's_  your question?" Blue eyes stared at the criminal expectantly. KID's lips stretched in one of his familiar grins ; it wasn't as creepy as it should've been on Ran's face. "I didn't know you cared about my opinion that much, tantei-kun."

"Barou," he blushed. "Don't say stupid things like that. Of course I don't care." Conan paused for approximatively eight seconds, before he spoke in a small voice: "I mean I really thought Hakuba was your favourite."

"Oh  _God_  no."

"What's wrong with Hakuba?"

"How much time do you have," KID replied, nose wrinkled in disgust.

Despite the effort Conan made not to smile, his lips curved upwards. He bended over and picked up his blanket, praying it went unnoticed.

(he wasn't as attention-starved as before, he really wasn't; but after  _months_  of giving up the credit in favor of Uncle, a little validation was refreshing, even–especially?–if said validation came from a magician thief who liked to toy with the police and return the jewels he stole.)

Conan clicked his tongue and shook his head. What the fuck was he thinking? "KID," he said, tone dangerously calm. "What. Are you doing here."

"I heard what you did back in Kitanosawa." And there it was again, the hand– _KID_ 's hand– on his forehead–cool, calloused hands, fingers slipping into his bangs ; but this time Conan didn't move. "You provoked an avalanche all by yourself with your snowboard? You really do have a death wish, don't you?"

The young boy shoved the hand off his face and made his way to the bedroom, shrugging. "What can I say, it's been a tough week."

He didn't have to turn around to know KID was looking at him with frustration as he followed him. Conan didn't get why the thief made such a big deal out of this. The village along with hundreds of people were saved–and that's all that mattered, in the end.

Conan sat down on his futon, legs crossed. One of his smartphones vibrated, sliding out of the mattress and onto the carpet. He grabbed it but stopped short, his right eye twitching. He raised his head and met Ran's–KID's, he reminded himself–disapproving stare. The thief was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and brows furrowed. It didn't look like he was leaving anytime soon.

"Don't you have a heist to plan?" the shrunken sleuth asked, annoyed. He looked down at his screen. It was his Kudo phone. "Go away. Shoo."

"I'm still not done with you, mister," scowled Ran–er, KID. At this point, he couldn't really tell the difference. "What if you died under that avalanche? Who's gonna be the -kun to my tantei? Who's gonna make my heists more fun?"

Conan rolled his eyes and focused on the notification text on the lock screen.  _Morning_   _news,_ it simply said, right under Haibara Ai's contact name. Conan frowned.

"… what if you died of hypothermia afterwards? I refuse to be left behind with that bastard Hakuba, you hear me? I refuse!" Conan passed beside him and out the door. "Oï, don't just ignore me like that!"

Kogoro must've watched the news earlier because when Conan turned the TV on, it automatically was on the Joho Live Miyaneya. _News Update_ , showed the headlines in white bold kanjis,  _Car Accident On Kototoi Bridge_.

"… around 9am this morning," was the journalist frantically saying. In the background, paramedics could be seen loading the ambulance with five stretchers covered with a white sheet. "The driver of the Dodge Viper that lost control and hit a SUV, killing instantly a family of four," clichés of each member of the family appeared on the corner of the screen, above their names and ages. One of them was a young girl named Fukishima Hana, not older than Conan. "has not yet been identified. So far no comment has been made."

"Uh, hello, I'm being all wisdom-y over here."

"I will  _pay_  you if you shut up," Conan muttered absentmindedly, focused on the tv screen.

A sigh was heard somewhere behind him and he briefly looked above his shoulder only to see KID sitting down on one of the pillows surrounding the table, legs spread in a masculine pose Conan has only twice seen the actual Ran doing.

Conan's gaze flickered back to the tv, brows furrowed in concentration. The camera was framing on the journalist's face, but in the background, the busted front of the Dodge Viper was visible. It was a blue sports car, with two thick white stripes. Conan's seen that model before.

The young detective narrowed his eyes, nose practically touching the screen. The reporter said four members of a family were dead. The paramedics were pushing five stretchers into the ambulance.

Was Chianti–?

Conan let out a shaky breath, crouching and looking up at the tv. He had to check. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. If the car _was_  Chianti's–and there was a good chance it was, why else would Haibara text him?– it'd be rigged with evidence. Potential leads. He had to get there before  _they_  did.

But how?

Kototoi Bridge skirted Sumida River, which was in Taito City, on the other side of town. He'd use his skateboard, but it was downstairs, in the office, where Kogoro was. The man was aware of his sick state, and would no doubt send him straight back to bed if he caught him sneaking out.

Conan bit his lower lip, considering his options. Agasa could get him out. He could call him. Or…

His gaze flickered back to KID.

.

.

"Remind me again why I am cooperating?" KID asked, taking off his helmet, Ran's characteristic cowlick miraculously still sticking out. "I'm already regretting this. What do I do if you die? No offense but you look like you're about to collapse."

Conan climbed down the motor vehicle and thrusted his own helmet at the thief, traumatized. "Maybe if you didn't drive like a  _maniac_! Oh my god. I screamed so much my throat hurt. "

"That was  _you_? I thought the wind was just really strong."

Conan facepalmed and spun around, walking away. KID followed him. They had to stop a few streets away, since Ran couldn't risk being seen riding a motorcycle.

(Conan  _knew_  KID could drive, since he drove a motorcycle in that Midair Walk heist, but he had no idea the thief actually had a license–the thought made sense, however. He couldn't just fly  _everywhere,_ could he?)

When they arrived on the edge of the bridge, the young detective huffed in frustration–his sight was blocked by the myriad of legs of reporters and curious civilians. He was going to butt in but was pulled back by the fur hood benched around his neck.

"Conan-kun," his voice was back on a female timbre, similar to Ran's, tone honeyed. "What are we doing here?"

Conan shot him a weird look. "Nothing that concerns you. Just play along." He paused before the unconvinced look the criminal gave him, and reluctantly added: "Please. This is really important."

KID eyed him for a whole five seconds before a sigh escaped his lips. He stood up, dusted the knees of his skinny jeans and picked the little sleuth up by his armpits, resting his weight in the hollow of his crooked arm. Conan didn't squeak. It was more of a low-pitched groan. He wrapped his arms around the thief's head so as to not lose balance. KID made his way through the crowd.

(It would be lying if Conan said he wasn't a little jealous of the way people seemed to move naturally out of KID's way. There was something in his posture, even under disguise, that breathed power.)

Soon, they were in front of the yellow tape surrounding the crash site within a forty-five feet radius. Conan swept the scene with his gaze. Snow stopped falling down sometime between the moment they left the agency and their arrival at Kototoi Bridge, leaving a thin coating of black ice in the corner of the streets. The ambulances had already cleared the place.

In the middle of all the agitation, the blue sports car was laying, wrecked. A few yards away, a gray SUV that looked like it had seen better days was flipped on its side. Blood was dripping from the shards of broken glass.

KID's arms tightened painfully around the young detective.

"KI– Ran-neechan," he choked. "I can't breathe."

"O-Oh." His hold loosened and when Conan looked up, it was to see Ran's haunted gaze stare straight ahead, transfixed. "Sorry. It's just–it's so awful."

(Conan had no idea if he was being genuine or simply too into character.)

"I don't think they're gonna let us in," KID commented.

Conan hummed, watching an officer in uniform a few steps away. She was turning her back on them, but there were no doubts about her identity : thin waist, short blue skirt, long, ebony hair–

"Yumi-tan!"

Conan jumped at the sudden shout and turned his head to the source of the voice–a tall, scruffy man, with messy brown hair and oversized glasses. Yumi Miyamoto turned around, briefly sweeping the crowd with her eyes before her gaze landed on the man.

"What in the–" She walked over to them with quick, angry steps, scowling. "What are  _you_ doing here?"

"Yumi-tan," the man repeated, beaming. "I saw the news and I thought you'd be too busy to go for lunch with me as we planned, so I brought the lunch to you!" He held up two bentos tied together with a green handkerchief.

"I'm  _working,_ Shukichi. Go away." She shooed him and went to turn away, but her gaze landed on them. "Conan-kun? Ran-chan!" Her arms, previously crossed, fell on her sides. "What are you guys doing here?"

_Chance._ Conan quickly went through the few things he knew about the accident, trying to turn up with an excuse. Chianti. Blue car. Gray SUV. Dead family–mother, three children.

"I knew Hana-chan," he sniffed. He did his best to look as sad as one can be, even going as far as clutching KID's jacket with one hand. "Is she dead? Ne, what happened to her? Am I going to see her again?"

(he inwardly winced and shot a quick excuse to the victims.)

Yumi's eyes widened at the tears appearing in the corner of his eyes and, alarmed, she looked up to 'Ran', begging silently for help.

"He's been like this since he saw the news," KID explained in a pained voice. He slowly began to rock him back and forth and Conan had to hold back a violent flinch. "He insisted on coming here and see for himself. I couldn't say no, right?"

(god he was so  _sick_  of being a child.)

"Can I see her?" he whimpered. "Please?"

"But the–the bodies, they're already–"

Conan didn't let her finish her sputtering that he squirmed out of KID's hold and onto the ground, quickly ducking under the yellow tape and making his way to the blue sports car, certain that the female officer wouldn't go after him.

Sure enough, he heard a "It's ok, I'll get him, I'm really sorry about this" pronounced in Ran's voice somewhere behind him. He didn't have to turn around to know Yumi left them alone and went about her business. The woman had the maternal instinct of a gecko. She wouldn't risk having to confront a kid about serious matters.

The license plate of the blue sports car was crooked in a sharp angle; only the  _Shinjuku 300 Su-_  could be distinguished. A man in uniform, cap pulled down low on his eyes, was crouched and examining the inside of the car. Conan walked up to him.

"Oji-san," he said, managing to sound distressed.

"Wha–" The officer looked up from his chart and frowned at the sight of him. He glimpsed at the inside of the car, Conan followed his gaze and noticed the bloody steering wheel. "Who let you in?"

"My aunt drives the same car, I–"

The officer seemed to buy it, because his face–or what Conan could see of it–softened. "It's not her, kid."

"Really? How do you know?"

The agent bit his lips and looked around him, as if hesitating to share the information. He seemed to settle because he spoke in a low tone. "Cuz the driver was a man, okay? It couldn't be your aunt. Now go, you shouldn't even be here in the first place."

"U-un," he nodded, a bit dazed.

A man. Chianti was alive. Conan frowned. Who was under the sheet, then? Someone who had no connection with the black org.? No, that was a theory Conan didn't like. Maybe another member who happened to borrow Chianti's car?

Was it Korn?

Conan circled the car, stopped behind, out of the agent's field of vision. He eyed the rear wheel pensively. It was intact. A quick tour around the car confirmed to him that so were the other three tires. The young detective licked his lips, before getting on all fours and glancing under the car, cheek against the cement.

"What are we looking at?"

_Eh?_ Startled, Conan raised his head. The scruffy man– _Shukichi_ , Yumi had called him–from earlier was bending down and looking under the car. He turned his head and met his eyes.

"Do you think this is really an accident?"

Conan watched him closely, circumspect. Was he from the organization? He didn't look like a member, and he  _was_  familiar with Yumi–but then again, Vermouth was an acquaintance of his  _mother_. They were everywhere, could be anyone–could be this guy or Yumi-san herself or that agent from earlier.

(the thought made him panic for a second, and he had to pull himself back down. He was  _here_ ,  _now_.)

"There are lots of ways to sabotage a car and provoke an accident," the man continued, not discouraged at all by his irresponsiveness. "Pulled wire, pulled fuse. Missing drain plug. Messing with the battery cable, the distributor cap, the tires." Conan watched him silently as he dropped a heavy hand on the trunk. "None of them apply here, but I'm sure you deduced that already."

Conan blinked and rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "W-What are you talking about? I'm just a kid."

"I have a brother," simply said the man, watching him closely with something like  _pity_. "He has the same look as you. Who are you?"

Conan didn't look away, blinking owlishly. The man was strange, but he didn't give off a bad vibe. He opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by a loud "Conan-kun!" followed by a hand sharply pulling his hood up. "Cover yourself, it's snowing again. And get up from the ground! You'll fall ill."

Startled, Conan put his two hands on top of his hood and turned around; KID was standing behind him, hands dropping on Conan's shoulders. His gaze slid up to Shukichi. "I'm sorry, was he bothering you?"

(Conan wondered for a second how KID had managed to master perfectly Ran's characteristic disapproving-worry expression down to the slightly furrowed brows and screwed corner of the lips. really, he was too good–not that Conan was ready to admit that.)

Shukichi laughed and stood up, glasses sliding down his nose. "No, not at all, don't worry about it."

" _You_!" Yumi approached them with furious steps and pulled Shukichi away from his ear, grumbling.

KID followed them with his gaze. "Who's that?"

"I have no idea," Conan admitted, standing up.

He must've stood too fast because a wave of dizziness hit him and he stumbled, only the steady hands on his shoulders holding him in place. "You okay, Conan-kun?"

Conan shoved him off, ticking his tongue. "Yeah, I'm fine." He walked over to Yumi, who was severely scolding her boyfriend, and pulled on her skirt. "Yumi-san."

"I can't believe  _you_ – Conan-kun?"

"The cars," he paused for a second to think about how he was going to word this. "… Isn't it possible it was a staged accident? You know, Kogoro-ojisan said that people do that sometime. They sabotage their cars and fake accidents, so they could get insurance money. He said it's really bad."

"Tch, you think we don't check? I assure you, nothing was sabotaged."

"How can you be sure?"

"Well, we finished examining both cars like thirty minutes ago. I'm just wrapping things up with the media and this  _idiot,_ " She shot Shukichi a dark glare and the man made a sheepish laugh. "–before heading back to the precinct." She sighed, dejected. "Man, just thinking about the  _paperwork_ …"

Conan's eyes widened, and he spun around and dashed towards the Blue Viper so fast he slid on a piece of ice on the ground and had to pull himself up with his hands.

The agent in uniform was gone. The door was wide open, and Conan walked up to it and took a peek inside. The airbags were laying flat against the board. Blood was on the crooked steering wheel, a closed pack of cigarettes in the ashtray. Conan leaned down to open the glove compartment, but strong arms suddenly surrounded his waist and snatched him from the car, banging his head against the top of the door.

"Watch  _out_!"

It was as if his head was underwater–feeling isolated, out of time and space. There was a blinding flash, immediately followed by a buzzing in his ear. Conan found himself from six feet above the ground to suddenly tackled into the snow, a body tightly holding his, breath knocked out of him.

Groggy, Conan found himself issuing amid a mass of noises and sensations. The rushing of men, the cries of people, KID's heavy breathing next to his ear, the biting cold sneaking up his jacket, his crooked glasses painfully sinking into the bridge of his nose, the acrid smell of smoke and  _burning_.

Conan shoved KID off him and sat up, eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. The car–  _Chianti'_ s car–was ignited into a fiery ball of flames. All the evidence, all the potential leads, the antidote of APTX-4869,  _Kudo Shinichi_ –burning down to  _ashes_.

"FUCK!" He punched the ground with tight fists trembling slightly in fuming anger.

(he was so  _tired_!)

"Conan-kun! Where did you learn that word?!"

Conan looked at KID with disbelief. The bastard was  _still_ in character. Was he enjoying this?

"Ran-chan! Conan-kun! Are you guys okay?!"

KID, who was sitting a foot away, stood up and made a show of dusting his behind. "We're fine, we're fine."

"Yumi-san, there was a man in uniform here…"

"What man?"

Conan opened his mouth, before closing it almost immediately, lips screwed in frustration. He couldn't involve Yumi. "Nothing it's– it's not important."

The police officer frowned but must've decided to let it go since there were more pressing matters at hand. She spun around and hurried towards a group of agents.

Conan walked away of all the commotion before anyone could accost him, and KID trudged next to him. There was nothing left to see on the crash site, the detective thought bitterly, burying his hands in his jean's pocket. How could he have been so  _stupid_? Of course the black organization was going to waste no time to get rid of all the evidence leading to them. They might've not anticipated the accident, but they  _did_  have eyes everywhere; Conan learned that the hard way. It had been a matter of minutes and he had wasted his.

They arrived at the small alley where KID had parked his bike and Conan leaned against the brick wall, eyes closed, ignoring the growing throb in his temples in favor of trying to put a little order in his thoughts. Right. So. The explosion. While destroying the nest of leads that was Chianti's car, it also proved the accident had something to do with the black syndicate; but he had to check, didn't he? One must not theorize before one has data.

"I'm out," KID suddenly said, throwing his helmet in the air before catching it.

Conan started and raised his head, blinking. "What?"

KID looked at him with a hint of irritation in his eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't have anything to do with all… this," he made a brief gesture towards where they came from. "I helped you out so far out of the mere goodness of my heart." Conan rolled his eyes. "but this is getting ridiculous, Meitantei. You won't tell me anything and I've got nothing to win, do I? So," He put on his helmet and hopped on the motorcycle. "Take care."

"Wait!" Conan jogged to the front of the bike. "You can't go! You need to help me sneak into the morgue."

"Give me  _one_  good reason why," the thief scoffed.

"I…" he hesitated. "I'll let you off the hook on your next heist?"

It was more of a question than an affirmation. Conan knew the thief didn't need the detective to hold back to pull off a perfect heist. KID knew it too, apparently, because he looked at him in the eye as he inserted his key in the slot and turned the engine on.

"Fine. Fine!" Conan conceded, exasperated. "What do you want."

"Now we're talking." A smug grin stretched KID's lips as the thief eyed him for a long moment. Conan began to feel nervous. "You know they make all sort of goodies based on me because I'm so amazing, right?"

Conan narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Yes, I know. You're like, Tokyo number one's profit machine. What's your point?"

"I want you to wear a KID sweater on my next heist."

"No. Way."

KID made a show of whirling the engine. "I wish you the best of luck, then. Let me know if you make it!"

"Okay, okay! Fine. I'll wear your stupid sweater."

"Well then, what are you waiting for?" A smirk that didn't belong on Ran's face stretched his lips. "Climb on, dear."

.

.

"Oï, would you stop? You'll blow our cover up!"

The stirring under his blouse stopped for approximatively seven seconds, before resuming more discreetly. A sigh escaped Kaito's lips.

He had ditched the Ran disguise to put on the front of a doctor he'd encountered in the hospital's parking lot and from whom he had stolen the ID currently hanging on his front pocket. It had taken him twenty minutes during which he made Tantei-kun wait in front of the restrooms.

He bumped into a nurse in her way out of the elevator. She widened her eyes at his sight. "Kawada-san? I thought you went to lunch already?"

"Just forgot something," he muttered, holding his briefcase tightly over his chest. The nurse nodded and walked away, and Kaito hurried into the cabinet and pressed the floor where he knew the morgue section was. As soon as the doors closed, Conan squirmed his head out the top of Kaito's blouse and took a deep breath. Clicking his tongue, Kaito pressed the detective's head forcing him to return under the blouse.

"Oï!"

"We're not there yet."

He cleared his throat and slipped into character at the same time of the  _ding!_ of the elevator. He stepped out and scanned his surroundings. There was a flickering green sign hanging above a single metal door guarded by an empty desk.  _Lucky_ , Kaito thought. They must've went to lunch.

"Okay, coast is clear."

He buttoned down his blouse and, grabbing the child by his armpits, settled him down on the ground.

(he didn't realize how  _hot_  the detective was until he was deprived of the heat source.)

"What did we come here for anyway?" he asked, annoyed, arms crossed behind his head as he followed the little detective into the mortuary. It was a cold, freezing room, with an empty operating table and a small window.

Conan walked up to the ten-body refrigerator against the wall and began analyzing the names in the labels. He opened the bottom left fridge and. There was a body.

Conan must've noticed the sudden tension in the room because he looked up from the ticket, eyebrows raised. "You okay?"

"Just great," he muttered, burying his hands in his blouse's pockets. In actuality, he wanted to throw up. He didn't like bodies. They reminded him of the day his father died.  _Poker face_ , he reminded himself. To distract himself, he eyed the body up and down. Platinum blond, almost white, hair, long nose, large ears, prominent chin. Scars all over his body; some old, some more recent, no doubt from the accident. Foreign, given his facial features– American, or European.  _Yamada Tar_ _ō_ , read the ticket tied around his big toe. A placeholder name–the man wasn't identified yet. Kaito frowned. There was something…

It clicked. "I know this man," he murmured.

Yes, he was sure of it now. This person, he already saw him before. On one memorable KID heist, what seemed like a million years ago. On a rooftop, behind Snake, a sniper riffle in his hands. At the time, his face had been concealed with thick, black glasses and a cap, but there was no doubt–it was him. Kaito remembered him because the son of a bitch had hit him  _real_  good, right between the ribs. He would've died that night if it wasn't for Jii-chan. Snake had warned him with a snicker and a  _"you won't make it out of this one, motherfucker! This guy's straight out of the head branch, one of the best in the field!"_  He'd referred to him as–

"Korn," Conan suddenly said.

"Yes! Korn!" Kaito blinked. "How do you know that name?"

"How do  _you_  know that name?"

They stared.

"I think we need to talk," Conan decided.

Kaito frowned. Was tantei-kun involved with the org.?  _How_? They were no laughing matters. And a detective as young as him shouldn't even know their existence. Maybe he knew Korn as an individual? Unlikely, but if he was unaware of the bigger picture, Kaito certainly wasn't going to be the one involving him.

But.

Kaito knew the little tantei, and if he  _was_  involved, that meant he had info that KID couldn't even dream of reaching. How long had it been since he'd taken on his father's mantle? Almost two years? And he wasn't as close to his father's killers as he was on that first day, at that first encounter on the roof.  _Yes_ , having Tantei-kun as an ally against Snake and his organization promised to be helpful. But it was dangerous, and the question remained: was he going to risk dragging Kudou into his very dangerous, potentially mortal, business, while he was trapped in the body of a seven-year old?

(he'd always wondered how did  _that_ happen, by the way. But now, he was wondering if the org. had something to do with the shrinkage, but that was preposterous, wasn't it? The theory that it was the results of a (failed?) experiment of that mad bulky scientist that served him as a neighbor was more likely.)

"Pass," he decided. There was no way he'd  _ruin_ Tantei-kun's life on the off-chance he knew something and could help him.

Conan blinked, eyes wide, as if from all the answers he anticipated, that one was the least. "What?"

"Should I remind you who I am?"

Conan raised an eyebrow. "Point?"

"Why would I, an internationally respected–"

"You mean wanted."

"–moonlight magician thief, play with a detective off-heist? I have a reputation to maintain, you know."

"What reputation?" Conan huffed. "KID, this is  _important_. I need to know what you know."

"No."

A frustrated frown furrowed the child's brows. "Listen up you motherfucker–"

"Kids shouldn't use such vile words~"

"You  _will_  tell me what you know about this man." He gestured towards the body. "Or else–"

"Or else what? You'll throw a tantrum?"

"I'll– I'll… do something bad."

Kaito raised an eyebrow and stared. Conan supported his gaze shamelessly, refusing to back down despite how lame his threat was. The thief scoffed and turned away with a dismissive gesture. "Let it go, Meitantei."

"KID! Come back here! I–"

There was a  _thump!_  followed by a muffled groan and Kaito turned around to see what had interrupted the little detective: he was sprawled out on the floor, having visibly tripped on a pile of black clothes abandoned at the foot of the refrigerator.

The corner of the thief's lips twitched upwards in a smirk. "You good?"

"Kill me," Conan muttered, rubbing his nose. He sat up and turned back to see what caused him to fall, and his eyes widened at the sight of the clothes. He scrambled up to the pile and began going through them. Black cap, black turtleneck, black shoes, black pants. He extracted a piece of paper from its pocket.

Kaito walked up behind him and leaned forward, palms on his knees, to read over his shoulders. There were only five letters and what looked like a date on the note, scrambled in messy handwriting. _HCH, 01/07 – V._

"V," Conan murmured.

Kaito frowned. "A signature, right? You know what it stands for?" In front of the unresponsive detective, the magician sighed, stood back up and straightened his arms above his head, yawning. "Anyway, lunch hour is nearing to an end. We should get out of here." This place was creeping him out, so he was relieved when the little detective nodded absentmindedly and stood up as well, eyes focused on the piece of paper in his hands. "Come on," he opened his blouse with a smirk. "Get back in here."

Conan groaned.

.

.

The sun, somewhere behind the thick, omnipresent clouds, was on its zenith when KID's motorcycle stopped in front of the Mouri Detective Agency. Conan hopped off the bike and into the sidewalk, his feet sinking in the two inches thick snow that covered the whole neighborhood.

"Mmh, let's see. For the precious time wasted, the ride, the gasoline, the  _attitude_ I had to put up with," KID made a show of counting on his fingers. "That would be one gazillion yen."

"I'll pay in soccer balls on the next heist," Conan answered absentmindedly, looking down to the note clutched tightly in his hands. "HCH… that must be Haido City Hotel." He looked up to KID who was watching him with an amused look, leaning against his bike, arms crossed. "What's in Haido City Hotel on July the first?"

KID hummed and cocked his head to the left, pupils rolled to the sky. "I don't know about first of July, but on January the seventh, there's my heist."

"Of course," the detective murmured, looking back down. "Korn's foreign, he goes by the American system." He licked his lips. "January the seventh. That's tomorrow, isn't it?"

" _Yes_ ," KID insisted, feigning irritation. "And instead of preparing my heist, I'm here playing taxi. How did that even  _happen?"_

Conan ignored him, thumb and index finger around his chin in the pose he liked to adopt when he was thinking. So. Korn–no,  _Vermouth_ had something planned in Haido City Hotel, on January the seventh; at the same time of KID's heist. That couldn't be a coincidence, which meant  _they_  targeted KID? Conan stared at the stranger in front of him–under that wig and all that makeup was KID's face. Why? What did the thief do that pissed that woman off?

(The thought of KID working for them hadn't crossed his mind at any point until now, but he quickly dismissed it. This was  _KID_ , for god's sake; stupid, magician,  _harmless_  KID.)

Conan rubbed his eye, fist sliding up his glasses. He could feel a headache coming. "You still need to tell me what you know about…" He let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished, and threw a nervous look around him. The street was empty, the rush of lunch hour died down thirty minutes ago. He still felt nervous about mentioning the black org. in public, though.

He spun around began climbing up the flight of stairs leading to the Agency, certain that KID would follow him. There was a small bang behind him and when Conan turned back to KID, it was to see the thief in full regalia standing four stairs down from where the detective stood.

"I think you already know my answer to that, Tantei-kun."

"KID, this is important."

The thief made a show of inspecting the nails of his right hand, covered by the white glove. "Haven't we had this conversation already?"

" _Listen_  to me!"

"I'm having a sense of déjà-vu."

"Oh my go– _look_ ," Conan inhaled a breath. Zen. "You either will tell me, or I will hunt down your civilian persona, and  _make_  you tell me."

"I'm a phantom thief, Meitantei. I leave no trail."

"There's no such thing as a perfect crime," Conan stated with assurance. "A criminal always leaves something behind him: a clue, a lead, a hole in the plan he didn't consider. And in your case, you better be sure I will goddamn find it."

A carnivorous grin stretched KID's lips, revealing white teeth. "Is that a challenge?" Conan narrowed his eyes and maintained eye contact, thankful for the fact that he didn't have to raise his head to look at KID since the thief was four steps lower than him which made them the same height.

The silence lasted three minutes, and Conan could pinpoint the exact moment the thief decided to give in by the sag of his shoulders and the little, almost undetectable smile that stretched the corners of his lips. When KID opened his mouth, Conan thought he won, braced himself for the truth, but what came out instead was: "Isn't Mouri-san going to worry about her sick little charge wandering outside in this weather?"

Conan blinked in front of the irrelevant question and had to take a moment to process it. He unconsciously looked over his shoulder to the agency's closed door. As if the thief's words reminded his body about its state, a cough escaped his lips.

"She went shopping with Sonoko, which means they're not gonna come back before seven."

KID licked his lips and looked away, hands tied behind his back. Conan narrowed his eyes before the suspicious behavior. "What."

"Nothing."

"KID", the sleuth warned. "What."

"Do you really wanna know?" Conan arched a brow and the thief raised his hands with an exasperated sigh. "Alright, fine. She lied to you. Happy?"

"What?" Conan frowned. "What're you talking about? It's Ran." He wiped his mouth with the inside of his wrist, and a sinking feeling shook his stomach. He looked up to KID, who was watching him with something in his expression akin to– _pity_ , and a thought crossed his mind. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but he asked anyway, voice dreadful. "Why did you–why did you think Ran was on a date?"

KID stared at him for a while. "I sneaked in by the window of her room to borrow some of her clothes for the disguise. What?" he asked in front of Conan's sudden dark glare. "I  _am_  a perfectionist.  _Anyway_ , this was on her desk."

With a gesture of the wrist, he produced a pastel blue piece of paper that Conan recognized was from Ran's notebook and handed it to him _._  Conan took it with hesitation and unfolded it. _Columbus!_ , it read, followed by an unknown phone number and  _noon_ underlined three times next to today's date and–a name. Two words that made Conan's blood freeze cold in his veins.

Hondou. Eisuke.

Conan just stood there, struck dumb, socks uncomfortably wet from the snow that infiltrated into his run-down shoes; clutching the piece of paper in his hands so hard his knuckles were trembling.

"Kudou? Are you… okay?"

Conan started and looked up with blue doe eyes. Despite his numbness, somewhere in the back of his mind, he absentmindedly noted that it was the first time KID used his real name, confirming what Conan already knew to be true–the thief  _did_  know about his predicament, after all. God knows how.  _Kudou_ , he'd called him. How long has it been since he last heard that name? He hoped his blank stare covered the turmoil seething under the surface.

He cleared his throat. "I'm fine," he managed to say, a million beats too late.

His voice came out a little strangled, and by the tight grim line that the thief's lips were set in, he must've noticed, but right now? He couldn't bring himself to care.


	2. in the footsteps of the black org. (2/2)

 

07:31am.

“So I heard Hondou Eisuke is back,” Conan blurted out the morning of the class resumption.

It wasn’t the subtlest approach, but Conan had spent an awfully uncomfortable night tossing and turning in his futon, covered in sweat and the image of Ran and Hondou seated at one of Columbus’ tables not leaving his _mind_ –subtlety wasn’t his first priority.

He hadn’t known about the date until after it was nearly over, but it was as if he’d been _there_ because every time he closed his eyes, the scene unfolded before him with such a painful _accuracy_ it could have been printed on the back of his eyelids. Ran ordered a salad, Hondou the spaghettis Columbus was famous for. And he’d try to make her laugh by playing dumb with the cutlery before his bad luck catches up to him and he’d spill the dish all over her and he’d apologize again and again while rubbing her shirt with a napkin and she’d laugh and brush it off as nothing because this was _Ran_ and just.

Dating. All. Afternoon.

He watched closely as Ran, standing in front of the mirror in the corner of the room, started and missed her eyeline trait, smudging some on her cheek. She spun around so fast her hair twirled behind her. Her eyes were wide.

“What–“ She coughed, moved to her vanity to snatch two tissues from the Kleenex box. “Where did you hear that, Conan-kun?”

The detective simply shrugged, absentmindedly playing with the corner of Ran’s blanket from where he sat on her bed. The sheets were cold beneath him and smelled like vanilla–her perfume. He watched as Ran returned in front of the mirror and wiped the black stain from her skin. Several minutes passed by, before she finally opened her mouth, not looking away from her reflection. “I heard it too. He’s transferring back to our class, apparently.”

“Where did _you_ hear that?”  

A resigned sigh escaped the young girl’s lips and she spun around to face him. “He texted me,” she admitted. “He came back from America two weeks ago. I didn’t tell you this, Conan-kun, but I saw him yesterday.”

Conan anxiously began to chew the corner of the blanket in his hands. Ran walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. “Hey, don’t do that,” she frowned, hands reaching to him to remove the fabric from his mouth. “Conan-kun.” Her voice was calm yet firm, her hands dropping heavily on both of his knees for emphasis. “You can’t tell this to Shinichi, okay?”

Conan blinked, all nervous twitching and blue doe eyes. “Why?”

“I’m not… I’m not ready. When the time comes, I’ll tell him myself, okay, Conan-kun?”

Conan stared at her. She hadn’t combed her hair yet, her uniform tie was resting around her neck, untied, and she had eyeliner on only one eye. “Are you dating?”

“What! No!” 

“Then why can’t I tell Shinichi-niichan?”

“It’s–Conan-kun,” she huffed, exasperated. “This isn’t–...please stop asking questions. Just remember what I told you, okay? Don’t tell Shinichi. Please?” She joined her hands pleadingly and Conan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again, chest tight and painful and aching from a wound that wasn’t there.

“Of course, Ran-neechan,” he finally managed to say, and he winced upon hearing his hoarse dry voice.

Ran must’ve heard it too, because the moment after her hands were all over him, cupping his cheek and up his shirt and brushing his bangs wet from sweat off his forehead. Her brows were furrowed in a concerned expression, and she was saying things like “How are you feeling, by the way?” and “I have to call the school to tell them you won’t be attending for the week,” and “Mmh, your fever got worse. Have you been out of bed, Conan-kun?”

And Conan answered by “Fine,” and “mmh,” and “of course not, Ran-neechan.” He rubbed his mouth, not paying attention at Ran’s rambling about fixing a doctor appointment and dropping by the drug store for more Tylenol as she stood up and straightened her skirt–at least, until she sighed and said “Sonoko’s going to be so mad about us not going to the KID heist.”

“Huh?” He raised his head, alarmed. “What? Why aren’t we going? Let’s go!”

Ran stopped short in her tracks and stared at him, surprised. She obviously hadn’t thought Conan would contradict her and she was right–normally he wouldn’t, but there was so much at play here. “You’re sick, Conan-kun,” she said in the careful tone of someone anticipating a tantrum.

“I’m not _that_ sick–no, really,” he insisted in front of her skeptical expression. He hopped off the bed and bounced up and down, arms stretched above his head, _crushing_ down the dizziness that overcame him from the sudden motion. “Look, I’m fine! I wanna go to the heist! Please?”

A displeased frown knitted her brows. “Conan-kun, you’re not going. That’s final.”

“But–“

“ _No_.” Conan closed his mouth. “Now how about some traditional breakfast?” she continued lightly, walking out of the room. Conan trailed behind her, barefoot.

Kogoro was sitting in one of the cushions around the wooden table in the middle of the living room, his light pink Yoko mug full of coffee in one hand and today’s newspaper in the other. The TV was on, serving as background noise.

He sat on his cushion while Ran brought a platter from the kitchen and set it down on the table.

“Ran-neechan,” he whined and grabbed her arm with two hands. “I really wanna see KID–“

“Conan-kun! I said no! Now stop it and eat!” She forced him to let go and glanced at her wristwatch. “Oh my god. I’m gonna be late.” She ran around the apartment to gather her things, finished up her makeup with one hand, and put on her winter coat and shoes. “Conan-kun, you better eat everything and rest for the day. Dad, keep an eye on Conan-kun, okay? Don’t let him go out. If there’s a case, just call the Professor. I’m gonna go now! Have a good day!”

The slamming of the door, footsteps running down the stairs, and she was gone.

Silence fell down again in the apartment–complete, lethargic silence, similar to the somewhat peaceful calm after a tornado. Conan stared down at his bowl, jaw clenched. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he was going to have to sneak out tonight. He couldn’t afford to miss the heist–not when he was certain the black organization was going to make a move.

He also had to talk to KID, he recalled, frowning at the thought of their last conversation. The bastard had successfully distracted him last time with the whole Hondou Eisuke thing, but Conan was determined: he wasn’t going to let himself be manipulated next time. This was entirely professional.

“Oi.” Kogoro’s guttural voice broke the peaceful silence and when Conan looked up, he noticed the older detective staring at him from above the newspaper clutched in his hands with narrowed eyes and a bored expression. “Alright, brat,” he said. Conan blinked. “It’s you and me now. I’m gonna be down in the office. You better go rest. Try anything and I’ll throw you out the window.”

With a sigh, Conan pushed his bowl away and stood up. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

.

.

08:00am.

Kaito’s stomach growled, sounding louder than it should’ve been in the religious silence of the classroom. Immediately, eighteen pair of eyes locked on him and he raised an eyebrow. “What, never seen someone starving before?”

The students broke in a cold sweat and turned their heads back to their table. Kaito scoffed. He’d trained them well. He looked back down at the mini-tablet resting on his lap, out of the teacher’s line of sight. Elbow propped on the table, forehead between his thumb and index finger, he began browsing with his left hand.

He opened the tabs window and clicked his tongue in front of the sixteen tabs left open from his last research sprint, proceeding to delete them all. At the end, he had three left. The first was the Haido City Hotel site, open on their schedule. (They were quite busy today, as Kaito had discovered, hosting a reception in the morning, a press conference in the afternoon and then the apex of the day: his heist.) The second: tonight’s target, an onyx called the Black Hole due to its unnaturally deep black color. Additionally, it wasn’t Suzuki’s property but a rich woman’s who also appeared to be the thief’s fan.

The third was a google search of Vermouth.

Kaito stared at the search bar for a long moment. Below were a list of forums explaining the origins of the alcoholic cocktail and debating the best ways to prepare it. He didn’t even know what he’d expected to find, but when he’d found himself in front of the google home page, he just _had_ to type it in.

He couldn’t forget the _look_ Conan gave him when he’d mistaken him for this Vermouth person–not quite surprised, or even scared: he’d been downright _terrified_. As far as he knew, the little detective had never been scared–not even when skydiving without a parachute at around 120 MPH, thousands of miles above the ground–let alone to the degree of _terrified_.  Kaito was curious as to who could possibly bring such a look on his face.

Something hard hit the back of his head, pulling him out of his thoughts, and he would’ve gasped if he didn’t have a perfect control of his expressions. Instead, he lifted his head and looked around him. His eyes locked with Aoko’s, seat in the next row but a table behind. Her brows were furrowed, and she nodded towards the ground. Kaito looked down only to see a Mars bar beside his chair.

His head spun back up. “Marry me,” he formed silently with his lips. The young girl simply scoffed and went back to her test.

Kaito tore open the wrapping and bit on the chocolate bar, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile. Honestly? No matter what went on in his life, he could still count on Aoko to continue being the best.

.

.

10:24am.

“… and you’re sure this guy’s _the_ Korn?” Jodie asked from the other line.

Faraway voices were parasitizing the line, accompanied by the clatter of cutlery and glasses. Eyes closed, Conan rubbed the bridge of his nose, lying on his back in his futon. The migraine just _wouldn’t_ go. “Un!” he chirped. “His arms were calloused in just the right places to show he regularly held a gun or a sniper, and there was a mark around his eye. That means he often pressed it against the zoom-thingy in the sniper.”

“A scope.” 

“Yes, that.”

Talking with Jodie–or the FBI agents in general, really–was always a delicate task because he had to make sure they continued to take him seriously, all the while injecting _just_ the dose of childishness in his tone necessary to not raise any suspicions regarding his identity.

“Also, there’s…” he trailed off, and furrowed his brows. He couldn’t exactly tell Jodie that KID recognized the black organization member, could he? It would simply raise a bunch of questions he didn’t want to and wouldn’t answer.

“What is it?”

He sighed. “Someone… identified the body.”

“What? _Who_?” she asked in English with that terrible accent of hers.

Conan remained silent. After approximatively a minute, the agent seemed to get the message because she resumed: “Since this guy’s dead, they’re going to cancel whatever they were planning, aren’t they?” Conan hummed. He thought the same thing, although he wasn’t sure. They were quick on their feet, after all. “I assume you’re going to be there?” Jodie continued.

“At the heist? Yes. It’s in–” He glanced at his wristwatch abandoned beside his pillow. “–twelve hours, so I’m gonna get a bit of rest before heading out.”

“You okay, Cool Kid? Hey, isn’t school starting today, by the way?”

Conan marked a pause. “Yes,” he slowly answered. “But I didn’t spend a good night, so Ran-neechan made me stay home to catch up on my sleep.” It wasn’t a lie, technically–more like an omission.

“Well, I’m going to warn the Bureau. You get some rest, we want the KID Killer to be in shape for the heist, don’t we?”

Conan murmured a quick goodbye before hanging up. He threw his phone on the bed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sigh. He had twelve hours to kill.

He could sleep for a bit, he decided, sharply pulling the blanket over his head.

.

.

12:01pm.

Kaito woke up with a start when Hakuba slammed a hand down onto his desk.

The detective lips were stretched into a smug grin. “Starving and sleep-deprived? Is being an international criminal finally catching up to your health?”

Kaito blinked heavily and his eyes darted around the room, taking in his surroundings. Half the classroom was empty, the teacher nowhere to be seen, the remaining students putting on their coat while chatting.

Right. Lunch.

Kaito grabbed his backpack from where it was hanging on his chair and began stowing his things in it, not paying any attention to the half-British detective. From the corner of his eyes, he could see his smug smile morph into–something. Kaito didn’t care enough to analyze his expression.

“Why did you plan a heist today of all days? You know what date it is. You do not even look well.”

“Piss off,” Kaito sighed, annoyed. He stood up, making Hakuba straighten up.

“I saw you on your tablet earlier.” Kaito could feel the sharp brown eyes follow each of his movements, on the lookout for the slightest flinch. The detective’s chin was held slightly low, shoulders squared, and he was standing so close that when Kaito zipped up his bag, his elbow grazed his chest. “Why are you looking up alcohol beverages?”

“Do you know what personal space is,” Kaito said, and he shoved him with a shoulder and made his way to the door. To his annoyance, the detective followed him. He wouldn’t back off until he got his answer, so Kaito sighed and blurted reluctantly: “I’m the one in charge of planning Aoko’s super mega birthday party of the death next month.”

“You are going to bring alcohol in the house of an Inspector’s underage daughter? Aoko-san is going to be incredibly mad, you know that?”

Kaito snickered. “Dude, it was _her_ idea. Not that it’s any of your business,” he added on an afterthought. “Since you’re not invited.”

Aoko was waiting for him. Leaning against the large window in front of the door, she was talking animatedly with her pony-tailed friend, and interrupted herself in the middle of a sentence when she spotted the two of them walking out the classroom. She must’ve heard the magician’s last words because she shot him a dirty look before turning her head towards Hakuba, a smile flowering on her lips. “Don’t listen to him, of course you’re invited.”

“Um, excuse me, are _you_ the one in charge?”

“No, but it’s _my_ birthday party.”

“So no then,” Kaito concluded. He turned to Hakuba. “You’re not invited. Don’t bother coming. You’ll only spoil the mood.”

“Kaito! Stop being so rude!”

“It is alright, Aoko-san. I am quite used to Kuroba’s immaturity.”

“I am quite used to Kuroba’s immaturity,” the magician mimicked.

“Ok, that’s enough.” She wrapped a firm hand around his biceps and pulled him to the side. Kaito let himself be dragged to the corner of the corridor. And when Aoko let his arm go and turned around to face him with a scowl, he thought she was going to shout, or pull a broom from behind her back and beat him up, but instead her brows furrowed into a worried expression and, voice softening, she asked: “What’s wrong?”

At his confused look, Aoko sighed and added: “You’re more obnoxious than usual. You didn’t even flip Aoko’s skirt today, not even once–that’s like, a giant help me flag.”

In the background, above Aoko’s shoulder, Kaito could see Keiko and Hakuba standing awkwardly next to each other in dead silence. The chestnut girl suddenly turned her head to the detective and opened her mouth to say something–Kaito couldn’t hear what, but he read on her lips the words “test” and “first day”–to which Hakuba agreed.

“Hey!” Snapping fingers inches from his nose pulled him back down, and he focused on Aoko again. “Are you listening to me?”

“I’m having a bad day, that’s all.” She looked unconvinced. Kaito put a hand to his chest, affronted. “Am I not allowed to be in a bad mood? You know, I had a horrible night. Dreamed about the–the finny things. ”

“Oh,” was all Aoko said, and her lips twitching upwards.

“Yes, _oh_. I couldn’t even have breakfast this morning, my appetite was cut off. Blocked. For life. I’m never eating anything again.”

“Yeah, okay, I got it, you’re on edge–“

“–they came to me in my _sleep_ , Aoko.” At this point, he was grasping her shoulders, eyes wide in horror. “There’s nowhere I’m safe.“

“O-kay.” She wrapped her hands around his wrists and slowly lowered his arms. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but I think you need to rest a bit.”

“It was really awful, Aoko,” he insisted, haunted.

“Yes, yes–go home, eat something, then sleep.”

“Really?” Hesitation crimped his face, and his eyes darted briefly to the classroom door before returning on the girl. “Skip class? On the first day?”

She dismissed his concern with an idle gesture of the hand. “I’ll make something up. Just get yourself together, yeah? Before I shove a broom up your ass.”

“Really?” A grin split Kaito’s face. “Thanks. You’re the best, you know that?”

“I do. Now go, I don’t want to see your ugly face until you’re well-rested.” With that, she turned around, apparently going to join Hakuba and Keiko.

“I owe you!”

She shot him a smile before disappearing up the stairs, leaving him standing alone in the corridor.

Kaito immediately relaxed, arms falling to his side and shoulders slumped. A sigh escaped his lips as he made his way towards the stairs.

It was all a lie, of course. It hadn’t been a nightmare that spoiled his night. (The day he’ll dream of _those_ creatures would be the day he died in his sleep with a heart attack.) It wasn’t even the planning of the heist. That’d been wrapped up the day he sent out the notice.

It was just his brain. It wouldn’t shut up. He’d tried meditation, clearing his mind, hot chocolate, reading his textbooks, binge-watching old episodes of Breaking Bad, but it. Wouldn’t. Shut. Up.

Exactly ten years ago, the world had lost its best magician.

Exactly two years ago, he’d took over his father’s legacy and donned the white mantle to avenge Kuroba Toïchi.

(Two years and he hadn’t made any progress in his mission than he had that day, standing in the phone cabinet, wet and confused and heart still pounding from adrenaline, talking to a voice in a phone he couldn’t put a face on. Two years and he’d accomplished nothing, nothing nothing, _nothing._ ) 

The Black Hole wasn’t Pandora, probably. But he was going to steal it and check anyway because what other lead did he have? He was bound to set up heist after heist, until the day Snake and his buddies showed up. _Maybe_ that day, KID would succeed on having his revenge.

When his alarm had rang at 7am sharp, he’d been more exhausted than when he went to sleep. A little concealer had managed to cover up the dark rings under his eyes, but apparently he didn’t have as much a solid grasp as always on his poker face today for both Hakuba _and_ Aoko to notice his state. He needed to pull himself together. People worrying over him was one thing Kaito absolutely hated and tried to prevent as much as possible.

For the second time in a minute, Kaito sighed. He buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket and made his way home.

He wasn’t feeling up to a heist; he wasn’t feeling up to anything, really. But he was going to drop his bag in his room, grab some snacks and head out to Haido City Hotel, because it was the right thing to do, even if he’d rather be in his bed right now and sleep the day away.

.

.

15:27pm.

Conan had been struck by a sudden urge to be _anywhere_ than in bed. He’d gotten a total of twenty minutes of sleep before being woken up by his ringtone–a call from Hattori he’d ignored in favor of trying to fall back into Morpheus’ arms. In vain. His brain had been too busy _thinking_ –and between the black org., speculations on KID’s possible involvement, and whatever the hell was going on with Ran, there was plenty thinking material– so he’d abandoned his sheets, dressed up, grabbed his skateboard and sneaked out.

Conan pushed the glass revolving door and stumbled into the hotel’s lobby, a Tokyo Spirit cap pulled low on his eyes. He made a bee line to the reception desk, and flashed the most lackluster smile he could managed to the woman behind the counter. She was reading the newest _Closer!_ magazine, chewing a gum like her life depended on it.

“Hello,” he chirped. “Could you please watch over my skateboard for me?”

She took the skateboard he was handing here and shot him a tender smile. “Are your parents staying here?” 

“Uh-uh. I came to see KID! I couldn’t wait until tonight though, so I made my dad take me here early.”

She laughed in front of his sheepish expression. “You like KID, boya?”

“Un! I _love_ KID!” A part of him died inside upon hearing his own words, but he kept up a crisped smile for the sake of his cover. “I’m gonna go now, my dad’s waiting.”

She waved at him and Conan walked to the elevator, hands buried in his electric blue football jacket.

The lift doors opened to reveal the large ballroom of the sixteenth floor, where the jewelry exposition was supposed to be held tonight. Conan walked three steps before stopping, throwing a circular look around him.

It was a nice room, with large windows shrouded by thick, velvet curtains. A carpet of the same color and texture covered the floor, smothering the sound of hotel employees’ and officers’ hurried footsteps. They were running around, setting up the last details of the exposition and the heist. In the corner of his eye, Conan spotted Nakamori-keibu talking with a bulky woman, whose hair gathered in a tight bun stuck out by its unnatural redness.

Conan walked up to the glass case on which was displayed the Black Hole and pensively eyed the gem.

Maybe it wasn’t _KID_ they wanted, he thought, but the jewel? Conan frowned. From the little he knew about the black org., he didn’t ever recall them being interested in jewels. Then again, who knew how vast the organization was? They were already invested in blackmail, murders and cybercrime–why not jewel theft? That was actually an interesting question, he suddenly thought. He’d have to ask Haibara.

“Hey!” A painful pressure on the back of his jacket, and suddenly he was three feet above the ground, staring up close at the annoyed face of Nakamori. “What are you–what is this kid doing here?!”

“Hello.” He waved a hand offhandedly. “I came to catch KID.”

“Listen, I don’t _care_ if people think you’re kid’s assassin or whatever, you have nothing to do with KID. And you have no right to be here, this is a highly secured room, how did you even get in here–“

“I literally just walked in–“

“–and you’re _eight_ , for fuck’s sake! Jeez, aren’t you supposed to be in bed anyway?” Nakamori barked, ignoring him. He marched to the elevator and dropped the boy’s down in the cabinet before blindly pushing the button of a random floor while staring him down, his body blocking the entry to the ballroom. “Leave the serious stuff to the grown-ups and go play in a sandbox or whatever you kids do.” 

With that, the elevator doors closed shut.

With a sigh, Conan leaned against the wall. He crossed his arms, spread them out, wiped the droplets of sweat off his forehead, turned his cap around. He had to wait for the FBI to arrive, he thought bitterly. What he could do, however, besides waiting, was explore the rest of the hotel for escapes routes and possible sniper spots.

(Korn was maybe out of the picture but, counter to Jodie, Conan honestly doubted the job was called off, whatever it was. Chianti was still out there.) 

When the doors opened, Conan walked out of the cabinet and glanced up to the number displayed in orange on the digital screen above the lift. Nakamori had pressed the seventh’s floor button.

Hands buried in his pockets, Conan ambled the corridor, plunged into his thoughts. Haido City Hotel had around one thousand rooms, spread over fifty stories. The organization, if it planned to strike, was already in. Same went for KID, Conan had no doubts. The thief was probably already in the ballroom, impersonating a task force member.

Conan suddenly glanced up to the ceiling, brows furrowed. He could’ve sworn he heard something. He froze, listening. There it was again–a soft, muffled tap, like Ayumi’s shy knock on the door every time she was late to class.

Someone was in the ceiling.

As if for confirmation, the detective heard the tap again, much louder this time, followed by a pained _“ow”_. Conan stopped short in his tracks, before rolling his eyes so hard he got dizzy for a second. He recognized the voice.

In the corner of the corridor stood a gold-colored table on which was a telephone of an ancient model and two thick, yellow telephone books. Conan climbed onto it. He had to step on the books to reach the metal bars of the air vent.

The screws were off.

Conan stuck his head in the vent only to come face to face with _white._ The color struck all the more in the darkness.

“KID,” he greeted, deadpan.

Despite the tight space, the thief seemed at home, his head and upper back resting lazily against one side of the vent, his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked like he was taking a nap. In an air vent. At the sound of his voice, he straightened abruptly, the top of his hat flat against the metal. Conan could pinpoint the exact moment he recognized him by the slump of his shoulders and the smile that split his lips, revealing his teeth and scrunching up the corner of his eyes.

“Detective!” he exclaimed, and he resumed his previous casual position–head against the metal behind him, his elbow resting on his left knee, his other leg stretched out towards the detective. “Fancy meeting you here!” 

“This is _not_ fancy at all.” Conan shot a look around him, nose wrinkled in disgust. He could feel the invisible dust going up his nostrils, hurting in that way the air did when one was in a cold. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a thief just chill out in an air vent?”

“Is answering by a question your generic response for whenever the reason of your presence somewhere you should definitely not be is evoked?” 

“Yes,” KID confirmed. “Wanna join the party? I have snacks.” 

He shook the noodle cup he was holding and clicked his chopsticks together. 

“… Are you seriously eating _ramen_? Now? Here?”

KID looked at him in the eye as he swallowed a particularly long noodle.

“You’re so weird,” Conan said, but he climbed up in the vent and sat, legs folded under him in the traditional _seiza_ position, a few inches away from KID’s ankle. He felt a pair of eyes on him and looked up, eyes narrowing in circumspection. “What.”

“Nothing, just... didn't expect you to actually join me."

Conan scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm just waiting for you to finish so I can handcuff you and turn you to Nakamori-keibu."

"Thank you for your consideration, Tantei-kun. Want some? I have a second cup. I was sparing it for later, but you look like you could use it."

"…What the hell,” Conan sighed and stretched out his hand. He tried to ignore KID’s light chuckle as he passed him a cup of chicken-flavored Nissin noodles and a pair of chopsticks. The detective started upon feeling the heat through the moist carton.

“It’s hot? How?” He teared open the wrapping, gazed down at the content with a frown. “Where did the water come from?”

“Magic,” was all the thief said.

Conan shot him an unimpressed look. “Right. I’m not eating something of questionable provenance.”

But because there was a world between what Conan thought and what he did, he murmured a quick itadakimasu and started on his meal, trying to ignore the amused way KID was looking at him.

They ate in silence for a while. Munching on a mouthful, the tips of his chopsticks in his mouth, Conan stared at KID. The thief looked thoughtful as he absentmindedly mixed his ramens. There was something…

Conan opened his mouth. "Are you.” He stopped short, licked his lips. He had no idea what he was about to ask: the words had been out before his brain could process them. KID was gazing up at him, curious, waiting for him to continue. "...okay?" he finished, voice soft.

KID cocked his head. “What makes you think I’m not?”

“Well, for starters, you’re eating instant noodles squeezed in an air vent.”

“So are you,” the thief replied, not missing a beat.

_(Who said_ I _was okay?)_

Conan simply stared, frowning. A grin suddenly stretched KID’s lips. “I’m fine, Detective! It’s so adorable that you care. I just overslept and didn’t get to eat this morning.” A glance, accompanied with a vague gesture of his right hand. “Life, you know?” He took a mouthful of ramen and munched on it a bit. “Also, Detective Samonji was on last night.”

Conan started. “You watch Detective Samonji?”

“You too?”

He seemed genuinely astonished. Conan scowled.

“Why are you so surprised? I _am_ a detective."

“Point, point. I just figured you’d be like that idol of yours, you know, all–“ He cleared his throat and took a deep, familiar voice Conan recognized instantly from hours of binge-watching the BBC show _._ “This is my hardrive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful.”

“Trust me,” the detective scoffed, looking down to his cup. “When you run into murders as often as I do, you quickly learn there is no such thing as useless knowledge."

“Wise words,” KID solemnly nodded.

The two of them looked down at the content of their foam container, a brief silence settling in. Then…  

“You saw that episode where that woman killed her son using tape and a paperclip?”

“ _Duh_ , it’s only like, one of the best.”

“ _The_ best!” Conan exclaimed with an excited bounce, almost flipping his cup over. KID’s chest lifted slightly as a laugh escaped his lips. Conan blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” the thief replied, amused. The shrunken sleuth narrowed his eyes but already KID continued. “I also like that one where Samonji manipulated the culprit into giving herself away…”

“Which one?”

“You know, it featured that foreign actress…” He clicked his tongue. “She has an American name. Oh, heard she’s here today, by the way.”

“Really?” Conan inquired absentmindedly, mixing the remaining vegetables floating in his cup. He’d never been interested in the cast outside of their acting skills. Besides, he didn't recall that episode. He really needed to update himself on the show.

“Yeah, for a press conferen–Chris!” He snapped his fingers twice, pleased. “Yep, that’s it. Chris Vineyard. She played the murderer, her trick was clever.”

Conan was too deep in a frozen state to start. Instead, he looked up slowly, eyes wide, placed the cup on the metallic floor. “Chris Vineyard is here?” he asked, voice dangerously calm.

KID must’ve sensed the sudden tension because he stopped short and glanced at him. “Tantei-kun? What’s wrong?

Conan didn’t answer, his mind crashing for a millisecond. Numb. Dumbstruck. The brain version of a heart monitor going flat. Then, just as suddenly, millions of thoughts came rushing in, spilled over him like ink on paper.

Vermouth was in Haido City Hotel–here, right now. For a press conference? There was no way _that_ was a coincidence. So, what? Was she here undercover? To supervise the operation? But _what_ operation? What was she planning?

Unless…

Korn’s memo never indicated _KID_ explicitly, did it? Conan pulled the wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket and looked at it- but this time, he focused on the handwriting instead of the words. Pointy, rough; uneven H’s, spiky V. A man wrote this. Korn wrote this.

_HCH, 01/07 – V._

The V wasn’t a signature–it was the target.

They planned on taking out Vermouth?

“Thank you for the meal,” he murmured, quickly joining his palms together before spinning around, crouched on his feet in front of the vent.

“Wait, where are you going?”

He ignored the surprised thief and let himself drop heavily on the table, not waiting for his feet to recover to dash towards the elevator.

_Vermouth was here_ , he repeated in his head while furiously pressing the elevator’s button. Vermouth was here and she was in danger. Oh, he had no doubts about whether or not she could protect herself. But some points about this whole thing were still fuzzy, pieces were missing. Conan wanted answers. What did she do for the org. to turn on her so suddenly?

He shouldn’t lose sight of his goal, though. The APTX-4869 sample. This was his chance. He’d always stumbled upon leads to the organization: Gin’s car parked in the corner of the street, the recorder stuck in the bottom of Kir’s shoe, and now this–Korn’s accident. A golden opportunity.

The _ding!_ that began to become familiar signaled the lift’s arrival and Conan slid inside the cabin before the doors even opened completely. He stopped short in his tracks in front of the floors’ buttons.

Right. He forgot about that. On what floor was the conference?

He didn’t have to hesitate long, since an arm reached from behind him and a finger pressed the number fifty. Conan spun around and instinctively stepped back, his back ending up pressed against the wall.

“Why are you following me and how did you put on a disguise so quick,” he said, tone flat.

The young man in a KID task force uniform standing before him smirked. Cop hat pulled over wild ebony locks, red-rimmed glasses eating up half of his face, familiar grin.

“Talent,” KID winked. “As for your first question, I'm merely looking out for my detective. You have that look on your face that only appears when you’re about to do something stupid and reckless.”

Conan scowled. “Who said I needed _looking out_ for?”

“You were buried under an avalanche not even two days ago.”

“Oh my god, would you let that go already!”

KID simply stared at him. Conan easily imagined a cocked eyebrow, even though he couldn't see it. (Despite the futile aspect of using a cap and glasses as a disguise (even though he acknowledged the fact that he wasn’t one to talk), the thief managed to make it cover his main facial features. If– _if_ –that was KID’s real face, Hiding or changing details of its upper part considerably blocked out the face perception process and KID knew that, the bastard.) “Fine,” Conan sighed, exasperated. “Do whatever you want. Just don’t get in my way.”

“No worries, you won’t even notice my presence. Cross my heart.”

“Whatever,” Conan mumbled. He glanced at the buttons on the wall next to him, the light in the twenty-sixth’s indicating the floor they were currently in. It sure took forever.

The silence lasted about two minutes, before KID spoke again. “What’s the deal with Chris Vineyard?”

“Nothing,” Conan replied. Too quickly.

“Liar.”

“I’m… a fan.” A quick glance to his side confirmed what he already knew: KID was looking at him with skeptical chestnut eyes. Conan sighed, annoyed. ''I'm noticing your presence. You're making it very hard for me to ignore you."

''Tell me.''

A shiver washed over Conan, and he'd tried convincing himself it was the cold and not the absolute _authority_ injected into those two words.

''Look,'' he said exasperatingly, a frown knitting his brows. He wasn't going to back down, no matter how much the thief pressed. ''You don’t wanna tell me what you know. Why should I?”

“I have a reason,” KID protested.

“So do I.”

“Mine is justified.”

''You think mine isn't?"  

Silence met his reply, and Conan, with a sigh of satisfaction and a hint of relief that made his shoulders sag, thought the conversation was over. He was wrong.

“Chris Vineyard…,” KID wondered aloud, thoughtfully eyeing the note wrinkled in his hands. ''Is that what the V. from the memo stands for? Vineyard?”

Conan’s eyes widened and he frantically searched his pockets. “When did you–“  

“It’s not me they want dead this time, is it?” KID cut him, lowering the piece of paper to lock gazes with him. “It’s this actress, Vineyard, right? How is she involved?”

“What do you mean, _this time_?”

“How are _you_ involved?”

They stared.

This was a key-moment, Conan could feel it. A moment he didn’t particularly like, but that imposed itself so strongly on them that it could only be described as key. If they seized this opportunity, KID would become an ally against the black org. He’d be around a lot then, wouldn’t he? And, parallelly, he’d be plunged head first into Kaitou KID’s eccentric, bizarre, _wild_ world, where being a magician thief known for announcing his heists in advance and returning what he stole was only the tip of the iceberg, Conan had no doubts. Who knew what he’d discover _there_?

There was a pause, both of them hesitating on the threshold of a whole new world of endless possibilities. Then–

_ding!_

The doors opened. In a synchronized movement, they broke eye contact, turned away from each other. Conan pressed a fist against his mouth as a discreet cough escaped his lips; KID cleared his throat.

“Whe–where’s the conference being held?” the detective asked, not making any attempt at all to dissipate the tenseness.

His straightforwardness seemed to trigger something in KID, for a smile that seemed too genuine but Conan knew to be pasted split his lips as he stepped out of the elevator. “Follow me~”

The walk to the conference room had been in complete silence, Conan trudging behind KID and staring at his back. He’d had to break into a light jog to keep up with the thief’s strides.

They took a few turns, passed non-labeled doors on the right side of the corridor, the left entirely covered in glass, offering a beautiful, almost aerial view of Tokyo from the fifty floor.

The conference turned out to be a large room, though smaller than the one where the jewel exposition was being held in, bursting with people. Four rows of chairs filled the room, all occupied. A table stood out by the lighting and its position facing the crowd, covered with a white napkin on which were set several microphones from different news channel. Various people in suits were squirming behind the table, but the chair in the middle was empty.

Conan spotted two familiar figures seated in the end of the last row. He frowned and walked over behind their chairs, leaning in to get a visual of their faces. “Jodie-sensei?”

The FBI agent turned her head to look at him and–yep, that was Jodie and her partner, Camel. “Cool Kid! You made it, after all.”

“I thought we agreed on meeting up the time of the heist?”

“Yes,” she smiled sheepishly. “After your call, I did a bit of research on the place. Thankfully! Otherwise, I wouldn’t have found out about this conference. That woman." Her eyes narrowed as she swept the table in front of the room with her gaze. “She’s here.”

“Huh," was all that came out of Conan's mouth.  

He would’ve asked why she didn’t warn him, but he already knew the answer to that. It was true that he was the one who'd informed her in the first place, but that didn’t mean she had to involve him. She had no obligations whatsoever–and probably didn’t want–to keep him updated. To her, he was still an eight-year old boy, after all, and who would want to risk a child’s life?

“Who’s your friend?” Jodie asked.

Conan blinked and looked up, only to meet KID’s brown eyes staring down at him. He opened his mouth, but the thief preceded him. “I spotted this kid wandering around. He said his parents were here?” Conan started at the gruff voice that spilled out of the thief's lips.

Jodie was eyeing him suspiciously, and her gaze landed back on Conan. She probably thought–rightfully–that it was a disguise. Conan supported her gaze with an unnoticeable shake of the head. She was suspicious of the wrong person.

Her cherry lips suddenly split into a pasted smile as she dropped a hand on Conan’s shoulder and looked up to KID. “It’s ok, we know him.”

The disguised officer nodded and turned away after tipping his cap. Conan’s pupils drifted to the right, following the thief in the corner of his eye. KID was unpredictable: he could either stalk them or disappear for good. Conan would’ve followed him, or at least warned Nakamori-keibu, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

He focused on Jodie. “What’s the situation?”

“Agents are scouting the area, including all tall buildings within a hundred feet radius.” She let go of Conan’s shoulder to press the earpiece in her right ear. “If they’re here, we’d know, so just relax. Enjoy the show!”

Conan raised his eyebrow. “Jodie-sensei–“

“We can’t arrest her,” she interrupted. “In a public place like this? It’ll trigger too much attention.”

“Especially with all the reporters here,” Camel added, looking around.

Conan opened his mouth, but the hair in the back of his neck stood up, making him spin around. He frowned upon noticing KID’s figure leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Conan couldn’t see his eyes from where he stood but he was sure the thief was looking directly at him.

Conan considered going up to him when Jodie suddenly shot up from her seat. The detective started and looked back at her. “What happened?”

“Someone suspicious had been spotted running away from a building three streets away. Stay here,” she ordered to her partner. “Keep an eye open for that woman!”

With that, she dashed towards the corridor. Conan saw her passing by KID without even a glance. The thief, however, followed her with his eyes. His head spun around and his gaze locked with Conan’s for a brief second before he turned around and disappeared after her.

“Excuse me, excu–may I have your attention please?”

The detective was tempted to go after him. In fact, he’d already started dashing towards the door, but a hand grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him back. He turned around, eyes wide, only to meet Camel’s worried expression. “Let us handle it, Conan-kun. This is dangerous.”  

“Camel-san,” he murmured.

Conan stared at where KID was standing a few minutes ago, before resignedly looking away, gaze landing on the man in a suit on the stage tapping on the mic and trying to get the crowd’s attention.

His mind was racing with several things at once before he managed to grasp onto a thought, the most urgent one, and hold onto it.

Running away?

The conference hadn’t even started yet and they were fleeing off, which could only mean two things: either Vermouth was dead, or the conference was–

“–canceled,” the man behind the table was announcing. Immediately, reporters started protesting in one loud hubbub. “We apologize for the inconvenience caused.”

The two theories weren’t mutually exclusive. The conference could’ve been called off because Vermouth was dead. Conan had to check. Luckily, the announcement distracted Agent Camel enough for him to loosen the grip he had on his jacket and Conan managed to slip away.

_If he was Vermouth and wanted to escape the scene unnoticed, how would he do it?_

The elevator screen indicated that it was going down, currently on the tenth floor. Jodie must’ve took it. He cursed and rushed down the stairs. He had to stop somewhere between the thirtieth and the fortieth floor to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, took off his jacket, dropping it on the floor with a curse. Dammit, he hated being sick.

His eyes drifted to the elevator. By the absence of light, it was unoccupied. He walked over, pressed the button, bouncing impatiently. It took ten seconds for the doors to open. Conan went in and pressed the last button, before slumping back against the wall, eyes closed. His breathing was still not regular.

When he opened his eyes, it was to the usual _ding_ and the sight of the hotel’s parking lot. The place was empty, only lit up by the poor lighting. Conan could hear the echo of high heels clicking against the cement.

Cautious, he stepped out of the lift, swept the parking lot with his gaze and–there she was, a grey trench going down to her knees, long hair color cream tarnished by time. She was leaning against the hood of her car, fingers curled around a cigarette.

“Vermouth!”

The woman turned her head towards him, looking surprised. To her credit, she quickly recovered and a smile straightened the corner of her lips, as if she was expecting him. “Silver Bullet.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and that was when Conan saw it–the earpiece in her ear. The same as Jodie’s.

He frowned. “You snitched on your partner?”

“She wanted to kill me,” she offered as a simple explanation. She shook her cigarette and ashes plummeted to the ground. “Eye for an eye.”

“And having Chianti distracting the FBI would give you time to escape. That’s what you’re doing here right? Waiting for everyone to go after Chianti so you could slip by?” She smiled and simply took a puff of her cigarette. Frustration crinkled Conan’s eyes. Looks like he was going to have to fish for info. “What did you do? Why do they want you dead so suddenly?”

Vermouth’s smug smile widened. “Tsk. You shouldn’t look at us as a group. It’s true that we are an organization, but we are individuals first and foremost.”

“The syndicate doesn’t want you dead,” Conan realized. “Korn does. Did.”

“Irony, don’t you think?”

“Chianti, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if the idea came from her in the first place.”

“She always hated me for what happened to Calvados,” she explained, checking the inside of her wrist. Conan couldn’t see it but he was ready to bet her bracelet doubled as a watch. “She thinks I took advantage of his feelings for me, and of course with what happened to Korn… she’s more furious than ever. You know those two were dating?” She scoffed. “She thinks I had something to do with his accident.”

Conan narrowed his eyes. “Do you?”

“I think you know the answer to that, Cool Guy,” she replied with a soft look in her eyes–almost _tender_. It disappeared as quickly as it came though, and she checked her bracelet watch again. “Well, I need to flee. I’m a busy woman, you know? Stuff to do, people to see.” She unlocked her car door and opened it. “Don’t worry, I called Gin. He’ll calm her down. Apologies for the inconvenience caused.”

“Wait–“

She was going to get in but stopped short in her tracks, and for a second Conan thought she actually listened to him–at least, until she raised her index finger and looked somewhere behind Conan’s right. “Officer? This kid is lost.”  

Eyes wide, Conan’s head spun around to look at the said officer. He only saw a figure hovering around the elevator but didn’t get to distinguish him that a slam of a car door and the roar of an engine was heard behind him. _Shit!_ He was about to turn around when the silver Jaguar passed right beside him. For the briefest of seconds, he locked eyes with Vermouth from behind her steering wheel, and she laughed.

Conan would’ve cursed if it wasn’t for the hand dropping on his shoulder. He sighed inwardly and prepared to put up a childish smile, but his expression froze when he turned around to face the officer. Red glasses, wild ebony hair tucked beneath a cop hat.

“KID, what’re you still doing here?” Conan asked, annoyed. He began tucking his hands in his jacket’s pockets but only encountered the smooth fabric of his short-sleeved black shirt. Right. He’d took the jacket off.

When he looked up to KID, it was to see the thief staring at the exit of the parking lot where Vermouth’s car disappeared. “Was that Chris Vineyard?”

“Yes,” Conan simply sighed, not offering any further explanations. He leaned against the back of the car parked closest to him, arms tightly crossed. “You went after Jodie-sensei, didn’t you?”

KID looked down at him. “Who is she?”

“Who do you think she is?”

“Police?”

“FBI,” corrected Conan with a smirk.

KID let out an impressed whistle. “You have some pretty high placed friends, Tantei-kun.”       

Conan took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. Here went nothing. “When you went after her, did you see something?”

KID took a moment before answering, adjusting his glasses by the arm, head tilted left and pupils looking in the same direction. “A woman. Short, red, orange-ish, hair. Possibly half-German? Dressed all black. She had one of those baseball bags on her back, looked pretty heavy. She fled the scene with a bike. Blondie wanted to follow her with her car but. Flat tire. I don’t think that was a coincidence.”

“You’d be an idiot if you did,” Conan mumbled, finger tapping his upper arm. “Did you know her too? Like you knew Korn?”

Silence. Conan frowned in front of KID’s irresponsiveness. He thought if he seemed forthcoming with information, the thief would be more cooperative. Apparently, he was wrong. “Fine,” he spat. “Be like that.”

With a kick, he took off the car on which he was leaning and began making his way to the elevator, but a hand grabbed his arm. He turned his head, eyes wide. “Tantei-kun–“  

“Just leave me alone, yeah?”  

He tried shoving the thief off, only managed to tighten the grip he had on him. Conan looked up to shoot him an irritated glare, but stopped short upon noticing KID’s expression. Twisted. Pained?

KID opened his mouth, closed it again. He bit his lip, brown, chestnuts pupils– _contacts_ , Conan noted in the back of his mind– looking down at the ground. He seemed caught in a dilemma. Conan patiently waited for him to say something.

Finally, he looked up, and there was something in his furrowed brows and the tight line in which his lips were screwed that gave off a mix of resignation and determination. “Snake,” was the only thing he said.

Conan stared.

Snake? The animal? What did that have to do with this? Did the thief think it was Chianti’s code name? Unlikely, she had only one code name as far as he knew and the thief was rarely misinformed. Maybe another member with whom the thief was familiar?

Snake, huh.

KID was staring at him expectantly, searching for something in Conan’s expression. He must’ve either find what he was looking for or not because he let go of his arm and straightened up, face blank.

“Where’s your jacket?”

Conan blinked. He didn’t expect _that_. “I… don’t know,” he admitted, voice softening. “Somewhere between the thirtieth and the fortieth floor.”

“Honestly.”

“What do you care anyway?”  

Frustration crinkled KID’s face for a fraction of a second before it disappeared as quickly. “I’m just trying to look out for you, can’t you see?”

Conan had the feeling they weren’t talking about the stupid jacket anymore. “For the last time, I don’t _need_ protection. Not from you, not from anyone. _I_ am the one who PROTECTS!”

He yelled that last part, straining his already aching vocal cords and a coughing fit immediately shook his chest, making him bend over, hands on his knees. KID stared at him, deadpan.

“No offense, but you don’t exactly look _able_ to do that right now. You look like you need as much people as you can to watch your back.”  

“Don’t fucking patronize me,” he gritted, breathless.

He straightened up, trying to catch his breath, hands on his hips. He looked to KID “If you’re not gonna help me, go away. Don’t you have a rock to steal?”

Conan watched him as he slowly spun around, making his way to the emergency stairs. He had his feet on the first step when Conan shot: “KID?”

“Yes?” the thief replied too quickly, spinning around and there was something like _hope_ in his tensed shoulders and the sparkle in his eyes that Conan pretended not to notice.

There was something decisive in his next words, something final that left a bitter taste in Conan’s dry mouth as he pronounced them.

“We’re even now."

.

.

10:13pm.

The heist lasted four minutes. In and out. Kaito wasn’t in the mood to perform tricks. There wasn’t any crowd to entertain anyway. Only the task force had been allowed to be in the ballroom, along with the owner of The Black Hole and that Suzuki girl who managed to negotiate her way in.

(He’d planned to please the owner whom he knew was a fan of him because it was the polite thing to do–he _was_ stealing her hundred million yen worth property–but he didn’t have the heart to go through with the plan. He refused to perform when he wasn’t at his best. He left a rose for her on the glass case as an apology.) 

Kaito stood on the edge of the roof, holding the Onyx up to the moon.

It wasn’t Pandora.

(he wasn’t surprised.)

Kaito let his arm fell to his side and lowered his gaze. It was a magnificent view of Tokyo in the night, all artificial lights and colors, but he didn’t pay it any attention, eyes glazed, plunged in his thoughts populated by a tiny bespectacled detective.

He hadn’t known the German gothic. He’d never seen her before, in fact. And he’d wanted to tell Kudou this–he really, really had wanted to. Spill everything. The detective was smart. And resourceful. For God’s sake, he knew _FBI_. He even caught himself daydreaming about Tantei-kun helping him take Snake down. Kudou could be _so_ useful if Kaito just let him _in_.

If Kaito was wrong and Kudou happened to know the organization’s existence and investigate them, he was without doubt _strides_ ahead of KID.

_If._

Kaito was desperate, yes, but not to the extent of ruining someone’s life. Even if it was just a chance.

A chance. That was the problem. Kaito was basing his entire reluctance of cooperating with Kudou on the off- _chance_ he wasn’t involved in the syndicate’s business. The fact was: it was more likely that he did. This was _Tantei-kun._ He knew Korn, and someone with the code name Vermouth, whoever that was. Both were alcohol brands, thus tied together, possibly by an organization?

Knowing that, Kaito still couldn’t bring himself to do it. Open himself to the detective. He needed to keep in mind that they were in opposite sides of the law. He was a thief that Tantei-kun was trying to put behind bars. If cooperation were to be done, he needed to proceed with caution, grope for information. He hated throwing himself into the unknown when it came to his alter ego.

That’s why he let out the code name Snake in front of the little detective. Kaito had watched him closely, and he hadn’t missed the confusion mixed with curiosity in Kudou’s expression. That moment only served to confirm what Kaito already suspected. Tantei-kun had _no_ idea of Snake’s existence, which only reinforced his theory that he only knew Korn as an individual criminal. He wasn’t aware of the bigger picture. Kaito would make sure it stayed that way.

Speaking of which, he didn’t know if Tantei-kun stuck around after their last disastrous conversation.

Knowing him, he probably did. Just for the heist. His recent despise for the thief would only serve to further fuel his desire and determination to catch him–although he had been nowhere in sight during the actual heist, which was weird but not surprising. He proceeded _fast_ and Tantei-kun was sick thus slow.

As if on cue, Kaito heard the metallic door of the roof open behind him and soft footsteps walking slowly towards him. Immediately, a sense of relief washed over him, like hot water against his body after a long day, sagging his shoulders and unclenching his jaw and making him sigh of contentment.

“Did you know?” he asked, holding the Black Hole back up to the moon and gazing up at it. Somewhere behind him, he heard the detective stop short in his tracks. “Like flowers, gemstones have their own language. Onyxes,” he spun around, the wind making his cape flutter behind him. “Are known for guarding against negativity, releasing bitter emotions such as sorrow and grief.” A grin stretched his lips and he let himself gracefully drop on the ground. “They also end unhappy relationships. Handy, right?”

Conan must’ve gotten the meaning behind those words, because he gritted his teeth and the hand that slipped on his belt. Kaito looked at him shamelessly. He was right and they both knew it.

A particularly cold breeze washed over them, making Kaito’s cape flutter sideways. Tantei-kun was shivering and had to release the grip he had on his belt to wrap his arms around him and rub his triceps. No surprise there. He was wearing a thin black shirt with short sleeves.

“Tch,” Kaito clicked his tongue and he snapped his fingers, producing a puff of smoke. In 0,8 seconds, he crossed the distance separating them, took out the small blue football jacket he retrieved earlier from the thirty-sixth floor, and draped it over the child’s shoulders. He didn’t have any time to return to his previous position: the smoke was already dissipating. Instead, he crouched down.

The detective recoiled at the sudden sight of his face inches away and stepped back. He looked down to see what changed. Upon noticing the jacket, he shot the thief an unimpressed look. “Really?”

“If you’re not going to take care of yourself, Detective, someone ought to do it.” He licked his lips, slowly reached over to grab a pan of his shirt and pull the child towards him. Conan let him, feet scarcely grazing the ground for the fraction of a second he moved. Through the fabric of his shirt and his own glove, KID could feel the heat emanating from the detective.

(so light and still sick.)

“My sweater,” he said, disappointment palpable in his tone, and Conan blinked. “You’re not wearing it.”

A frown knitted the child’s brows and he looked down to his shirt. “Right. Sorry. Forgot.” He seemed genuinely displeased with himself. “Next heist?”

“Mmh.” Kaito’s grin stretched. “So be it. Next full moon then, Tantei-kun.”

Conan simply sighed, tired. “Hand over the jewel, KID.”

“Check your pockets.”  

The diamond looked so big and so black in his tiny pale hands. Tantei-kun was looking down at it, frowning, and for a second Kaito entertained the thought that they were thinking the same thing–at least, until he looked up to him and asked without hesitation: “What’s wrong?"

Kaito blinked. “Pardon?”

“You’re.” He paused for a second, visibly frustrated on not finding how to word his thoughts. “Not okay. You didn’t perform like usual tonight. I know you don’t want to share info with me, I don’t _get_ it, but I know. So at least answer this. What’s wrong?”

Kaito stared, not sure of how to react. Tantei-kun was concerned. About him. His mental state? “Aren’t you mad at me right now?”

“How is that relevant?”

The detective’s brows were furrowed and he seemed genuinely confused. Apparently, being mad at someone didn’t stop him from worrying about said someone: those two weren’t exclusive to him, were they? And there he was, looking like death, pale and shivering and _sick_ , and he wanted to know if _KID_ was okay.

This was _so_ painfully Tantei-kun that Kaito just couldn’t hold back his laugh.

“Detective! I may have not been in a good place up until now, but your _adorable_ concern just cleansed my soul and cleared my skin.”

The detective blushed. “Just–go back to being you. You’re no fun when sulking.”

With a laugh that echoed in the nocturne silence, he straightened up, spun around, ran to the edge of the roof and jumped.

People worrying over him was one thing Kaito absolutely hated and tried to prevent as much as possible.

Except, perhaps, when it came to this person.

_Yes_ , he thought, the icy wind slapping his cheeks like a furious woman. He could get used to _that_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot for the warm feedbacks and all the Kudos! Here's chapter 2, hope you enjoyed it. Special thanks to my crazy panini (sorry she seems very fond of that nickname): ZaiBan2989, who did a wonderful job beta-ing this chapter. 
> 
> Next one on Christmas.


	3. Kogoro in a bar - II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Here's a gift.

_My name is Mouri Kogoro, Detective._

The happy chime of the Blue Parrot’s doorbell resonated within the empty bar. Kogoro pushed his sunglasses up his nose by their bridge and, hands in his trench coat’s pockets, moved to sit in front of the counter. There was no one on the other side. They were for sure taking a break in the back, since there was no client, and the doorbell would warn them if someone came in. Kogoro nodded, satisfied with his deduction.

_As you see, my sharp mind is trained to always be observant. I like to think of myself as an equal to Kogoro Akechi, Edogawa Ranpo’s famous fictional detective, whom I share my name with. It is not a coincidence._

A newspaper was splattered on the next stool. Kogoro glanced at the headlines. They were, of course, mentioning him and his latest case.

_We, talented detectives, are always busy: consulting for the police, taking in our own clients, fighting against crime. That is why we need a happy place where we can drink in peace. This bar…_

With an elegant gesture, he took out a cigarette and stuck it between his lips before lighting it with his Zippo. He rested his chin on his intertwined fingers.

_… is still not my happy place. This is only the second time I bless this Billiard bar with my presence. The first time, I was called in by a client who sought my higher intellect and deductive skills for a case. She works here as a bartender._

The door leading to the backroom slowly opened, and Kogoro held out a breath. He quickly straightened forward and took a quick puff of his cigarette, closing his eyes. He didn’t open them, preferring to relish on the smoke and the sounds – soft, light footsteps, easily unnoticeable if you didn’t pay attention, stopping in front of him. Before they had a chance to speak, Kogoro reached blindly for their hand above the counter.

_Yuzuki Fuiki, 26. She’s in love with me – hence my presence here tonight._

“Would you grace me with your presence for an evening around dinner?”

“Uhm, you’re not my type, sorry.”

Kogoro blinked. The voice that answered him was husky, modulated, and nothing like the pretty bartender he knew. And the young, messy-haired _male_ teenager standing in front of him was definitely not Yuzuki Fuiki, 26. The cigarette fell on the counter, forgotten. The teenager didn’t break eye-contact, instead raising his eyebrows, seemingly amused.

Kogoro jerked backwards, his sunglasses crooked on his nose. “What the–who the hell are you?!” he barked, unconsciously wiping his hand on his trench. “Where’s Yuzuki-chan?”

“Kuroba Kaito, magician,” smirked Kuroba, shuffling a deck of cards produced from nowhere. “She took her day off. Family emergency or whatever. I’m just watching over the bar while Jii-chan runs a quick errand. You want something or not?”

Kogoro facepalmed.

_Hang on, let me start over._

He cleared his throat. “A Gimlet, please.”

_They call me…_

In a sudden puff of smoke, a cocktail glass filled with green liquid appeared in front of him. Kogoro nearly jumped out of his stool – but he kept his composure, only shooting a dark glare at the teenager.

_… Sleeping Kogoro._

Kogoro took a sip, eyes closed, taking in his surroundings with a deep sigh.

_The classical notes of the soft jazz playing in the background soothes my heart, along with the chime of the doorbell. The low, orange lighting gives off a casual yet professional atmosphere – two adjectives that could as easily describe me._

Conan climbed into the next stool, all wide eyes and chirpy voice. “I want orange juice!”

_The bar neighbour…_

“Wait what?” With a sense of déjà-vu, Kogoro opened his eyes and shot a surprised look at the child. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Conan gave him a large, innocent smile, missing the slight, nearly imperceptible pause Kuroba made at his sight. “Ran-neechan is at school and I didn’t wanna be by myself at home. Besides, I need to make sure Occhan doesn’t flirt with anyone! Ran-neechan said so!”

“You were here the whole time? Aren’t you supposed to be sick or whatever? Oi, don’t tell me you’re faking it to get out of school.”

“Occhan, it’s really not good to drink now. It’s not even noon.”

“Here,” Kuroba chimed in with a soft voice, putting a blue straw in the juice glass before pushing it towards the child.

Conan thanked him and grabbed the glass with two hands. Kogoro piqued on the slight change of the teenager’s voice–compared to earlier when he introduced himself, his tone was lowered to a heavier register. The thought, however, quickly disappeared from his mind as well as his previous question when he processed the words. A vein throbbed on his forehead. “Get off my back, brat. You think the great Mouri Kogoro receives orders from a kid?” 

Kuroba Kaito’s eyes widened and he blinked, mouth slightly open. His entire expression breathed surprise. Kogoro loved causing those kinds of reaction. “Mouri Kogoro? The detective? Did Jii-chan call you here?”

“Who?”

“The owner of this bar.” Kuroba shook his head. “Nevermind. Just thought he finally decided to call a professional for the weird things that had been happening lately around here.”

Conan, who’d been silently watching their interaction while sipping his orange juice, raised his head, his interest piqued.

“What kind of weird things?” 

.

.

_dark shadows creep within the cover of darkness, only to be illuminated by the light of deduction. A peculiar case calls for me in the Blue Parrot! Is the murder related to the impossible thefts?_

_He perceives the one and only truth. Looks like a child, but has the intellect of an adult. His name: Detective Conan!_

.

.

If there was one thing Conan hated about being a child–beside the weak immunity system–it was the impact his little form had on adults–or, more precisely, the lack of it. It was no secret that children were often ignored. Talked down to. Patronized. _He’s eight, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about._

Before Conan, before Tropical Land, before the black org., the entire police force was hung on his lips, the media in the palm of his hands. That was namely what made the transition from Kudou to Conan so frustrating: being interrupted, dismissed and/or talked over to.

It was different with the bartender.

When Conan first saw him, he had to make an abrupt halt and stare mouth gaped. At first sight, the teenager was an exact replica of him ( _his old self_ , he thought bitterly a fraction of second too late) but upon closure inspection, there were a few differences. Eye colour, hair style, bone structure. Conan squirmed in his chair, uncomfortable. They could easily pass of as brothers.

Curiously, it wasn’t the resemblance that struck Conan the hardest. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it – something in the way the doppelganger treated him, maybe? He didn’t have to repeat his order, or gesture with his arms to have the other’s attention. It was instantly on him. Which was unusual, especially with a celebrity like Occhan right next to him.

(for the first time around a stranger, he didn’t feel small or overlooked.)

That was what came to his mind when the messy-haired teenager turned his eyes to look at him. Indigo eyes, Conan noted and blinked owlishly, sustaining eye contact while the other began to elaborate.

“Stuff disappearing, mostly,” Kaito said, absentmindedly folding a white napkin. (and where did that come from?) “Keys, phone, glasses; one memorable time, my sock.” Conan frowned. “Don’t ask,” the teenager added, shaking his head. “Whatever you put on a table, if you turn around, be it just for a sec, it’s gone.”

“Just a thief,” Kogoro diagnosed, finishing his cocktail, bored. “Put on some cameras. Case closed.”

The bartender blinked and turned his head to the older detective, as if he just remembered his presence.

“We tried,” he replied, a beat too late, “but the camera also got stolen.” The napkin in his hands began to take the shape of a – _was that a dove?_ “And it can’t be a thief, the things disappear _while_ we’re in the room, and it only happens after closing hour, usually when we clean the place up. No one’s around, save for me and Jii.”

“You work here?” Conan asked.

And there it was again: that look. Sparkling. Interested. Drinking in his form. Scanning him like he was a mathematical formula that needed to be deciphered. Conan cleared his throat and, with his two hands, pushed his empty glass towards the teenager.

“No,” said teenager shrugged and he removed the straw before putting it back in after refilling the glass with juice. “I hang around here a lot since Jii-chan’s a friend of the family, and sometimes, I stay to help. Clean up and stuff. I’ve been told I’m good company.”

Conan opened his mouth but was interrupted by the chime of the doorbell. Three pairs of eyes turned to the new comers: a group of four people, shortly followed by an old man carrying a silver suitcase.

The group moved to sit at the furthest table from the door, while the man made his way behind the counter, immediately greeted by a cheerful “Jii-chan! Welcome back!”

“Bocchama,” Jii replied, setting the suitcase on the counter, right beside where lay Conan’s arms. The small detective eyed it with a curious look, innocently sipping his juice through the straw.

The suitcase was suddenly removed from the counter and when Conan raised his head, he met Kuroba’s eyes, seemingly amused. Kuroba winked at him and put the suitcase on the floor, out of sight.

“Kaito,” the teenager protested above the loud “Oï! Bring some champagne over here!” of one of the two men in the group. He moved to get two bottles from the top shelves on the wall. “Kuroba Kaito, that’s my name. You don’t have to call me Bocchama anymore, you know.”

He brought the platter, balanced on one hand, to the table, before letting himself drop to sit on the stool next to Conan, body turned to the little detective and an arm casually slung above the counter. He tightened the kaki flannel tied around his waist, and swung his right ankle above his left knee.

(his entire body language screamed interest. Conan didn’t know what to make of it.)

“Bocchama, I need to talk to you–“

“Jii-chan,” Kaito interrupted. “This is Detective Mouri Kogoro and his… son? Sorry, I didn’t catch your name, kid.”

“Edogawa Conan!”

“He’s not my son,” Kogoro grumbled, shaking his cocktail glass by the tip. “Just a freeloader. Pour me another one of those gimlets.”

Jii-chan seemed to lose some colour as he moved to prepare a new cocktail. He shared a look with Kaito, a look Conan’s curious gaze didn’t miss. There was something cautious in their silent exchange, something guarded, something they both didn’t want the two detectives to see.

“Asa-chan, you’re incorrigible,” laughed loudly the woman in glasses behind them, pulling Conan back out of his thoughts with a start. He looked above his shoulder towards the group of four.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” the second woman replied, her long blue electric nails tapping the wooden table. “I’m worth more than a couple of cheesy lines and a box of chocolate. Anyway, I don’t care, I have Isao-kun, right?” She leaned towards the man sitting next to her and planted a kiss on his cheek, ignoring or simply not noticing his brows bumped into a scowl. She pushed her chair back and stood up, grabbing her Fusae purse decorated with small gingko leaves pattern. “Gonna freshen up. Be right back.”

“Hang on, I’m coming too,” the first woman said, following her.

Conan followed them with his gaze before they disappeared in the toilets. They were particularly loud for a group of four. He turned his head back to his glass, only to remark that Kogoro was in the middle of a heated discussion about the supposed thief with the old man.

“I’m just saying, this is a simple case of theft. Put up a trap or something.”

“It always happens after closure hour,” the old man uttered.

“So?”

“Soooo,” Kuroba stepped in, dragging the single syllable. “Both doors, entry and back, are locked. No one’s around except me and Jii-chan here. If a person picked the lock, sneaked in _and_ stole something while we’re _in_ the room, we’d immediately notice, trust me.”

Conan hummed, thoughtful and scanned the bar. It _was_ strange. Where did the thief come from? And how did he steal so efficiently?

“Toilet,” he decided, hoping off his stool and straightening his black sweater with white strips before he made his way to the single door labelled W.C.

(he ignored the indigo gaze he could _feel_ following his every move. It wasn’t a hostile look, but it still made the hair in the back of his neck stand up.)

He bumped into the two women on their way out. They seemed gloomy, but Conan didn’t dwell on that. He was more interested in the hole in the door. A hole the size of an adult man’s fist. Conan eyed it for a second before closing the door. He leaned against it for a second, just the time to recover from the nausea that had washed over him when he’d hopped off the stool.

He was getting worse. He hadn’t managed himself these last two days, wandering about Kototoi Bridge and then Haido City Hotel. He _knew_ he had to go easy on himself– some rest for a few days and he'd be back on his feet. But honestly? He couldn't care less about his health right now.

Conan sighed and scanned the little bathroom. Two stalls, one sink, a dusty mirror hung above it. In the right corner of the wall, there was a narrow, squared window. Two inches by two. It was open. Conan eyed it for a second before dismissing it and going in one of the stalls. There was no way someone could come in by there – hell, _he_ couldn’t, much less a fully-grown adult.

He sighed and flushed the toilet, moving to wash his hands. He had to jump three times to reach the sink; the water flooded his hands. He just pulled a considerable amount of tissue from the dispenser when he heard a loud crash immediately followed by a scream.

Conan rushed to the bar, only to see a woman on the floor, surrounded by three horrified friends. The woman with glasses was apparently the one who screamed – she was cupping her mouth with her hand, tears prickling in the corner of her eyes.

“Asa!” screamed the man, Isao, all traces of scowling gone.

He made a move towards the body, but stopped short when Kogoro screamed: “Nobody moves!

“Call an ambulance!” he ordered to Kuroba. The teenager was frozen in his seat, face drained from all colours, looking physically sick. His gaze was fixed on the body. “Oï!” Conan ushered, tugging on the other’s jeans.

The gesture seemed to pull him down: he blinked and turned his glazed gaze to the shrunken sleuth. “Right, right,” he whispered before pulling his phone out – a black flip phone with a white clover strap.

The old man, Jii, approached them and put a hand on the teenager’s shoulder, forehead puckered with worry. “Bocchama.”

Kuroba gently shoved him off without looking up from the screen. “I'm fine.”

Conan stared at the weird interaction with interest. There was a story somewhere in there.

“Call the police, too,” Kogoro said gravely, crouched beside the woman’s body, two fingers on her pulse point and a serious expression on his face. “Nobody moves until they get here, understood?”

“You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Isao barked. Conan noted his strong western accent. Behind him, the woman in glasses was sobbing in the second man’s arms. “That’s my girl laying there! Who the fuck are ya anyway?”

“You never heard of me?” Kogoro turned his trench-coat collar up and cleared his throat. “In front of you, in flesh and bones, stands the famous–“

.

.

“Kudou-kun?” was the first thing that came out of Megure’s mouth when he crossed the threshold of the Blue Parrot.

Conan panicked for a grand total of 0,8 seconds before he noticed the Inspector wasn’t looking at him but rather, at Kuroba.

The teenager, who recovered sometime in the fifteen minutes it took for the police to arrive and was now staring at the spectacle from behind the counter, blinked, seemingly surprised to be addressed at. He pointed his finger at himself, interrogative. “Me?” 

Conan looked between their two confused faces and decided to step in.

“Kuroba-niichan looks a lot like Shinichi-niichan, ne?”

“Conan-kun! Wait, that means…” Blasé, Megure looked beside him, only to meet the grinning face of Kogoro inches apart. “Of course.”

“Keeeibu,” the sleeping sleuth complained, scratching the back of his neck. “I have nothing to do with what happens around me.”

“Shinigami,” Megure simply said and taped his shoulder before stepping forward, eyeing the body being examined by forensics. “What’d we got here?”

“Asa Kiamichi, thirty-two years old. She was a corporate lawyer. Death by poisoning.”

“It’s murder?” the blond man paled, captioning the attention of the inspector.

“And who are you?”

“We’re–we’re friends of Asa-chan,” the woman stammered, pulling out a purple handkerchief and wiping the corner of her eyes.

“I see, please introduce yourself and tell us the exact nature of your relationship with the victim.” 

“Why the fuck?” the previous man–Isao–barked. “You suspectin’ us or somethin’?”

“It’s mere protocol,” Megure stated. “Please cooperate.”

The man frowned but was apparently satisfied with the answer. He reluctantly introduced himself: Henmi Isao, thirty-five, business accountant. Then came the tall man with shoulder-length dirty blond hair. Nagano Hiroya, thirty-five, vendor in a pet store; followed by the woman in glasses, whose introduction was hindered by her silent sobs. Shizue Kanemaru, thirty-two, paediatrician. The first was the victim’s fiancé while the two latter were good college friends.

“She wanted to introduce us to her fiancé,” Shizue clarified. “That’s why we met up today for lunch. Then she insisted we went dress-shopping, before we ended up here for a drink. Oh god, she wanted me to be her bride’s maiiiiid,” she buried her face in her hands, letting out a cry.

Nagano patted her back. “I can’t believe she’s gone,” he whispered.

 _An almond smell,_ Conan picked up, squatting on all fours beside the body. _Cyanide. Wait, what’s that?_ He leaned in closer to inspect a purple dot on her cheek. _Lipstick. She must’ve smudged some while putting it on._ Conan scanned the area around him. Her purse was laying on its side a few feet further, her things half-scattered on the floor. Keys, wallet, iPhone. Struck with a sudden idea, Conan slipped towards it, pulled the sleeves of his sweater to cover his hands, and quickly went through her makeup bag.

It was then that he felt a pressure on his collar. He was suddenly lifted from the ground and a too-familiar bark resonated in his ear. Conan put a hand in front of his mouth, the sudden movement making him sick. Fortunately, the need to throw up disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Brat! What do you think you’re doing? ’Taku, always running around sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” A sheepish laugh escaped the little detective’s lips as he was being carried and dropped on one of the stools in front of the counter, under Kuroba’s amused gaze. “And stay there!”

Kogoro walked away grumbling, and Conan resumed a serious face. He had a pretty good idea of the way the poison was applied, but he couldn’t figure out the identity of the murderer from that. Not to mention, where did the poisoned item go?

Sometime in his train of thought, his eyes ended up on the teenager standing behind the bar. Chin resting in his palms, elbows on the wooden surface, Kuroba was watching two men from the scientific police trace the body’s contour with white tape. His eyes were glazed.

“Kuroba-san?”

The young man looked at him, curious. “Mmh?”

“You were here when it happened, right?” Kuroba nodded. “Can you tell me the exact circumstances? From when Kiamichi-san and Shizue-san came back from the bathroom?”

“Mmh,” Kuroba hummed, cocking his head to the left. “Well, they both regained their seats. Talked a few seconds. Kiamichi-san looked a bit pissed, so Isao-san poured her some champagne and she drank it. Then she collapsed.”

“Nothing else? Are you sure?”

“Erm, before Kiamichi-san sat down, she kissed her boyfrien– is that it? Is that important?” he said, noticing Conan’s sudden tilt.

“She kissed him? How?”

“Erm, like this?” Kuroba leaned over and planted a light kiss on the boy’s cheek, before resuming his previous position with a smug grin. “But like, I think she went for the lips first and Isao-san avoided it, so it landed on his cheek. Look, you can still see the spot.”

Conan, a bit red, cleared his throat and looked at the direction the teenager was pointing at. And, indeed, there was a clear trace of purple lipstick on Isao-san’s cheek. “Oh,” was all that left Conan’s mouth.

“Yeah. What does that tell you, little detective?”

Instead of answering, Conan let his gaze slide over the teenager’s face. “How would you do it?”

Innocent blinking. “I beg your pardon?” 

“If you had to poison someone in public, how would you do it?”

“I’m not a criminal. I don’t know the most efficient ways of murdering someone.”

“Then why do you carry a gun so often?” Kuroba stopped short and lifted his head, mouth slightly open. A smirk stretched Conan’s lips. “Your hands,” he said, replying to the silent question. “There are calluses on the second phalanx of your right index finger and on the palm of your left hand.” Conan tilted his head, provocative. “Ne, what’s in the suitcase, Kuroba-san?”

“Well aren’t you a clever little detective,” Kuroba acknowledged, inspecting his palms. The smile previously dangling in the corner of his lips widened into a full grin. “But you’re wrong.”

Conan blinked. “Eh?”

“I’m not a criminal.” His hand plunged into Conan’s space and for a second, the sleuth thought it was going to cup his cheek, but it reached behind his ear before pulling back, a coin trapped between the index and middle finger. Kaito made and unclenched a fist and a second coin appeared, this time between his middle and ring finger – then a third one. At the fourth fist, the three coins disappeared, replaced by a bright yellow rose.

“I’m a magician!” he exclaimed.

Conan stared.

“Well,” Kuroba nudged him, as if he was expecting something. In front of Conan’s blank look, he sighed and shook the rose between his fingers. “Take it!”

“What are you, Kaitou KID or something?” snorted the detective, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Don’t be silly, I’m way cooler than KID.” In a puff of smoke, the rose disappeared. “Then how about I answer the questions you are dying to ask me? I can see it in your face,” he explained, remarking Conan’s surprise.

“The little window in the restroom, is it always open?”

Kuroba blinked, like he was expecting something else entirely; he was quick on his feet though, Conan could give him that. “That little thing? Yeah, it’s busted. You can’t close it. I promised Jii-chan I’ll fix it a while ago but, you know.” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “Procrastination.”

“What about the hole in the restroom’s door?”

“Yeah,” was the simple response he got. “I break a lot of things.”

“And those thefts? Can you tell me more about them? What exactly has been stolen?”

“Erm. Like I said: Jii-chan’s car keys. My watch. My sock. Singular. I took my shoes off for a magic trick and my dumb friend spilled something on them; I took them off, so she could clean it better, but when she turned her back to get her handkerchief from her purse one of them was gone. Just like that. I had to go home with only one sock. It was a bitch.” Kaito shook his head. “Also, that camera we set up. Pouf.” A puff of smoke. Conan coughed. “Gone. Well, it wasn’t a camera per se… just my phone I propped against a wall on camera mode.”

“That phone?” Conan inquired, pointing at the black flip phone abandoned on the counter, next to where Kaito’s elbow rested.

“Yeah. I found it on the floor – like what exactly happened there? did the thief grab it then change his mind? Did it walk itself over there? Creepy.” Conan smirked. “What? What? Did you find something? You just did that grin. You found something didn’t you. Was it something I said?”

“I didn’t find anything,” the detective lied, because he wasn’t going to tell this stranger that, he, an eight-year old boy in appearance, just cracked the entire case.

(and why was Kuroba so damn observant anyway?)

He hopped off his seat and walked a few steps, drinking in his surroundings. Forensics were scattered around the room, the three suspects seated at a table, looking dejected and grief-stricken. A bit further was Jii, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief. Leaning on the Billiard table, eyes closed, hands in his trenchcoat’s pockets, was Kogoro. Conan blinked.

“Keibu-dono,” the sleeping sleuth said, tone assured. “I solved the case.”

“What? Really?” the Inspector replied, mirroring Conan’s exact thoughts.

“Yes. It’s really simple. The murderer is–” he made a show of spinning around, his trench whirling behind him like a cape, and pointed his finger at the victim’s fiancé. “– you, Isao-san!”

“What the FU–”

“Wait,” Megure ordered, raising his index finger and silencing the suspect’s cry of outrage.

Pause.

“Wait for what?”

“Your little dance, crazy mumbling and the _posture_.”

“My what?”

“That’s the golden rule. First thing you learn in police school nowadays,” explained a man in the background to his shy partner. Both belonged to the scientific police according to their jackets. “You don’t listen to anything Mouri-san says until he does those three.”

 _Okay, time to put an end to this joke_ , Conan thought, blasé. He flipped open the lid of his watch.

“Let’s cut the crap,” demanded Kogoro, one little dance, crazy mumbling, and The Posture later. “Like I said, I solved the case.”

“Like hell you did! I didn’t fucking murder Asa!”

“Calm down, Isao-san, that was a joke. I like to do that.”

“Then who did it?” inquired the inspector.

“I’m getting to that. First, let me explain how the murder went down. We know Kiamichi-san has been poisoned, correct? Did you find out _how_?”    

Megure looked at one of the member of the scientific police. “We found traces of cyanide on the victim’s lips, and the glass she was drinking from. We suspect the poison was on her lips first, before it contaminated the glass. How it got there, we have no idea. No poisoned item was found, keibu.”

Behind the chair, Conan smirked into his bowtie. “You won’t find it. It disappeared.”

“Say what?”

“Shizue-san, when she got back from the restroom, Kiamichi-san was not in a good mood, am I right? Could you tell us why?”

“Eh?” The woman adjusted her glasses by its arms. “Well, she lost her favourite lipstick. She put some back on while I was in the stall, then when I came out and it was her turn, she claimed she put it on the sink before going in. But it wasn’t there, and it didn’t roll on the floor either. We eventually stopped looking and went back.”

“Lipstick. _That’s_ how the poison got to her lips.”

“We didn’t find any contaminated lipstick,” Megure pointed out.

“Like I said, it disappeared.”

Kuroba made an “oh. _Oh_ ,” sound that made Conan lean over the side of the chair he was hiding behind to glance at him – he quickly cowered behind Kogoro, though, when he met indigo eyes _looking directly at him_.

(he broke out in a cold sweat. that was impossible, wasn’t it? he was well hidden, and the spotlight was currently on the sleeping detective. it was probably a coincidence.)

“What does that mean?”

“A bunch of things has been disappearing lately,” replied Kuroba. “Jii-chan’s car keys, my watch. My phone changed place when I tried to catch the thief in the act. The same thing happened with the lipstick, right?”

“Exactly.” He marked a pause. “Car keys. Watch. Kuroba’s phone. What do these three things have in common?”

“Their colour,” Kuroba realized. “They’re all black. My socks were black too, the day one of them was stolen.”

“The lipstick was also black,” Shizue added, confused.

“Could you get to the point?” Megure urged, annoyed.

“Isao-san is not the culprit, because Kiamichi-san kissed him.”

“But he avoided it,” the magician remarked. “Doesn’t that mean he was aware of the cyanide’s presence?”

“Wow, excuse _me_!” Isao hissed. “I was just pissed at her! She wasn’t gonna lemme have any strippers on my bachelor party! I mean come on, a stag night without strippers?”

“Furthermore, if Isao-san was guilty, after avoiding her kiss, he would’ve immediately wiped it off. It’s faint now, but you can still see the trace of Kiamichi-san’s lipstick on his right cheek. If my deduction is correct, analysis would come off positive. Which raises the following question: why would he willingly let a dangerous poison such as cyanide on his skin for this long?”

“True,” admitted Megure. “But everything you just said didn’t answer a thing. Who did it? Where’s the lipstick? How did they make it disappear? And what does the colour black have to do with all this?”

“Interesting questions indeed. Conan!”

“Haaaaai.” Conan appeared from behind the chair, an innocent smile painfully stretching his mouth. In front of fourteen pair of eyes, he walked to Kuroba who was eyeing him curiously from behind the counter and stretched out a hand. “Can I borrow your phone, please?”

The magician didn’t move a muscle, elbows resting on the bar and palms supporting his chin, but the phone previously in his front pocket appeared in the little sleuth’s hand in a puff of smoke. Conan refused to look impressed. Instead, he walked back and put the device on the table, backing away a few steps. Ten seconds went on without anyone saying a word.

“Aaaan’ what exactly are we waitin’ for?” asked Isao.

On cue, a white-winged bird flew in from the hole in the restroom door, causing Shizue to let out a surprised yelp. In a noisy fluttering of wings, the bird hovered above the table and proceeded to lift the flip phone up by its clover strappy. It only made it as far as a foot of faltering flying, however, when it decided it was too heavy and let it drop. The phone landed on Conan’s hand.

“Hiroya-san,” he began with the most childish voice he managed. “You work in a pet store, right? This bird is so pretty! Can you tell me its breed?”

The blond man looked reluctant to do so, but he spat, fists clenched: “Kasasagi.”

“Soû,” Kogoro’s voice confirmed, attracting all eyes back on him. Conan took the opportunity to plunge behind the chair. “Kasasagi, otherwise known as magpie. They are known as arrogant, kleptomaniac birds. For the past two weeks, this one has been sneaking in by the little busted window in the restroom and grab every black item in sight.”

“What a bitch,” Kaito commented.

“I thought magpies only steal shiny stuff?” the Inspector frowned.

“That’s merely a false rumour. Magpies can steal anything. This one has been trained to only seek black things. The car keys, the watch, the sock – that was all training for the moment it will need to steal the lipstick. Right, Hiroya-san?”

The blond man’s eyes widened.

“Hiroya-kun?” Shizue repeated, horrified.

“E-Evidence!” the blond man sputtered. “You suspect me because I work in a pet store? Where’s the evidence?”

“If you find the nest, which is probably in top of one of the utility poles behind the Blue Parrot, you’d find your evidence. The lipstick, along with the other stolen items, should be there. If I’m correct, your fingerprints should be on it, Hiroya-san. You applied the poison this afternoon, in the mall. When Shizue-san and Kiamichi-san were actually shopping, they left you with their things, didn’t they?”

“Wait a sec,” interrupted Isao, brows furrowed. “I was the one holding Asa’s purse. Hiroya was watching over Shizue’s.”

“Did you leave her bag unattended for a moment?”

“Well I went to pee–“ 

“There you go. Nagano-san used that small time frame. No time to put on gloves.”

“Find the nest,” Megure ordered to two agents just as Hiroya Nagano, dejected, fell back on his chair and buried his face in his hands.

“I loved her!” was all he offered as an explanation, voice strangled with emotion.

Soon, the nest was found, along with all the stolen items (“Oh my god my _sock!_ ”) and the culprit was handcuffed and led to the back of a police car. Conan stepped up from behind Kogoro’s back and looked thoughtfully at the door, hands buried in his jacket’s pockets. He had to wait for Kogoro to wake up, as usual. It usually took three to five minutes not including the deduction show, even though Conan noticed that he was waking up faster and faster recently. He was no doubt beginning to develop a resistance. He had to talk to Agasa about that, he noted absentmindedly.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he felt a sudden warm surround him and a chest against his back. The detective jumped and turned his head, only to meet Kuroba's face from a profile view, a few inches from Conan’s cheek. He opened his mouth but didn’t utter a word that two large hands grabbed his wrists, pulled his hands, much smaller, out of his pockets and began to carefully wipe them with a wet handkerchief.

“You went to the restroom after those women, yeah?” the magician mumbled, focused on his task. “You never know.”

Conan simply watched as he wiped his palms, each finger and between. “You’re worse than Ran-neechan,” he muttered, embarrassed.

“Yeah?” Kuroba finished up and with an impressive sleight of hand, the handkerchief disappeared. “Who’s that? Your sister?”

“Un,” Conan nodded, turning to face the crouching magician, eyes locked on the floor. “Kinda.”

He looked up and– _oh_. Conan blinked. Kuroba was merely inches away, and his differences with Kudou Shinichi had never been more emphasized than from this angle. Conan saw a smooth, pale skin, punctuated by a faint trace of an old scar on the upper left eyelid. He saw disciplined eyebrows, eyes colour of amethyst, an angular jaw digging down his cheeks. He saw ruby lips; full, wet lips stretched into a shit-eating grin and revealing straight, white teeth.

(Conan didn’t know if he was _supposed_ to notice all of those details. but hey, he was a detective. his job was to observe, compartmentalize and store.) 

“Oï, brat!” Kogoro shouted, pulling him out of his thoughts. Apparently, he’d woken up without Conan noticing and was already by the door, ready to go. “Come on, we’re going home.”

With a last glance to Kuroba, Conan walked away, but skidded to an abrupt halt on the bar’s threshold. He turned around and shot the magician a shy “Bye-bye.”

Surprise flashed over Kuroba’s face, quickly morphing into– _something_ as he waved. Conan didn’t dwell on his expression, having to break into a jog to catch up with Kogoro.

(fondness.)

“Good job on that case, Occhan,” Conan congratulated once he caught up with the detective. He slowed down to walk beside him. “I would’ve never thought of the thief being a bird!”

“Well what can I say, I’m great.” He barked a laugh and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Don’t worry kid! Someday you’ll learn!”

Conan let the words wash over him, amused. Off all the things he hated about his current situation, letting Kogoro take the credit for his deductions wasn’t one of them. Not anymore. The shrunken sleuth shook his head and buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket – only to stop short on his tracks, bug-eyed.

In his left pocket, neatly pressed, lay a thin, thornless, bright yellow rose.

.

.

A rose of the same colour tucked behind his ear, Kuroba was seated at the stool previously occupied by the little detective, gaze staring at nowhere in particular, glazed. Jii was concerned.

“Bocchama?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

Instead of answering, Kaito leaned forward and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms.

“Fuck,” he let out in a shaky breath, voice barely a whisper.

Jii could clearly see the trace of a micro-smile dangling in the corner of his lips.

His brows furrowed in worry. “Bocchama, do you think they know?”

“Knowing him, he probably suspects _something,_ he just doesn’t know _what_.” A fond smile stretched his lips. “What a noob.”

Jii frowned. Since when was Bocchama so familiar with the Sleeping Kogoro?

Kaito noticed his confused expression and laughed. “It’s not going to be a problem, don’t worry.”  

Well, then. Jii would’ve normally protested, said they shouldn’t be careless, but there was something he needed to do. Something important. He cleared his throat. “Bocchama, we need to talk.”

“Oh no,” the magician replied with false alarm. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“You are not well.”

Jii watched as Kaito paused for a second, before looking at him with exasperation and sighing. “Jii-chan–“

“No, _listen_ ,” the old man interrupted. “Please,” he added in a soft voice because this was _Bocchama_ and he couldn’t bring himself to be harsh on him to save his life.

Kaito stopped short and stared, so Jii took the opportunity to continue. “I myself have been feeling a little down lately. It happens every time this month comes around for eight years now, and it is normal. After all, it is in this time of the year that Toichi-sama had been–” He stopped. It was too painful.

“Jii-chan… I’m sorry, I didn’t think – how are you doing?” Kaito asked, looking at him with _concern_.

Jii’s lower lip trembled. The boy was struck with _grief_ over his own father and he still was worried about _him_. It was too much for Konosuke Jii. He broke down in tears, falling on his knees and wrapping his arms around his little master’s waist. “Bocchama! You are too kind!”

Kaito patted his head twice, embarrassed. “Jii-chan, hey, come on. Stand up.”  

Jii didn’t listen, instead letting go of the boy and resting his weight back against his heels. He wiped his eyes with a white handkerchief, before looking up to Kaito. “Bocchama,” he sniffed. Kaito was gazing down at him, eyebrows raised. “You shouldn’t let the grief alter your common sense, do you understand? I know we haven’t had any leads recently regarding Toichi-sama’s murderers and they are still running out and about. But please, do stay put. For now, there is nothing you can do except continue being Kaitou KID.” 

There was a pause, and Jii honestly, genuinely thought he’d got his point across and began to relax.  

But then.

 _Then_ , a twisted smile stretched Kaito’s lips and he looked above his right shoulder, to the counter where an empty juice glass was sat. “See, Jii-chan,” he slowly said. “That’s where you’re wrong.”   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this early because I'm not sure if I'm gonna have the chance to tomorrow. 
> 
> That was the last chapter that was ready. That means you're gonna have to wait a little for chapter 4, on which I'm currently working on. Initially, I wanted to post it the 30th-my birthday-but. It is not going well. ): 
> 
> Regardless, I hope you liked this one. I'm sure you noticed, but this chappie is inspired by episode 738, Mouri Kogoro in a bar. 
> 
> Thanks for all the wonderful feedbacks, I love you guys. Also thanks to my lovely beta, ZaiBan2989 (did it work? is it linked?). if you see this, fucking answer me on whatsapp already. 
> 
> Happy New Year! May 2018 be the year you thrive.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys like this chapter!


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